Guardian Angel
by dragongirl5k5
Summary: Ulquiorra is an angel, a lost soul unable to rest. Grimmjow's just an angry youth trying to get by after a friend's untimely death. Ulquiorra can help him, but at a price. Grace always has a price.  -GrimmUlqui-
1. Restless

My first Ulquiorra and Grimmjow story, the plot of which has taken over my mind. Sorry for any mistakes I miss, I proofread best I can.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Warning: This will contain male/male couples, otherwise known as Yaoi. Don't like, don't read. There will be a fair amount of het couples, but nothing explicit. Violence, language, gore, etc.

Flamers beware: I love using them to roast marshmallows.

To all others: Reviews are loved and highly appreciated. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy.

_**xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**_

_Help me find a reason_

_And I'll help you find the way_

_To get rid of all your pain_

_Little by little, day by day_

_-Theory of a Deadman, Heaven(Little by Little)_

* * *

><p>Rain poured down.<p>

It fell harshly upon the city, covering every inch of every street with the unmerciful rhythm.

He hated rain. Hated how it always seemed as if the sky was crying like a little inconsolable child. And fucking God, if there even was one, well, he hated him too. For not doing anything about his suffering child and just allowing the burden of the rain to fall onto the rest of the world.

Uncaring bastard.

Jaegerjaquez Grimmjow was by no means considered a good person. And he accepted this. Hell, sometimes, he downright embraced it.

That didn't mean he necessarily couldn't be a decent person at times. Didn't mean he felt any less than those emotional saps who could dance in the rain all night. Didn't mean he could not feel pain like everyone else.

Because he did feel it, like now, with it's suffocating black tendrils smothering him with a pillow of rage, spite, and remorse.

At the moment, he hates every freaking individual in this forsaken city. He hates how they all either ignore the rain's presence or simply complain about it like helpless retards. Christ, does anyone ever try to do anything about _anything_ anymore?

And he knows the answer. Everyone is so damned consumed with their own lives and everyday mundane issues of those lives. With their technology, pestering romances, feeble sentiments, and angsty, melodramatic high school situations.

Okay. It was official: He was majorly brooding.

And you know what, why shouldn't he? Death gave him every right to be as cynical and hateful as he wanted.

In fact, it had not been more than week or so ago when a friend had died.

You see, he usually didn't go labeling just any old acquaintance will the title 'friend'. But, Grimmjow can honestly say that Rangiku had been his closest companion since childhood.

Now, Grimmjow has seen his fair share of terrible occurrences and grievances in his time. Growing up in the slums, you see a lot. Yes, he too can be a selfish bastard sometimes and yes, even brutal. Those are his flaws and he accepts them. He _is_ human, unfortunately.

What he cannot accept is how a worthless, piece-of-trash robber can get away with shooting two people, killing them, and only go to jail. What the fuck happen to an eye for an eye? If that law was still around, that shooter would be dying twice over. Thrice, if Grimmjow had his way.

What enraged him most was the lack of meaning to her death. Rangiku and the other had just been two victims in a random shoot-out. A tragic article in the paper. A report on the news that made people tear up and hug their kids a little tighter that night before bed. There was no or reason or rhyme to it.

It was just, 'Oops, didn't mean to pull the trigger and ruin two lives. Sorry.'

She died for absolutely _no good_ reason.

Grimmjow could just _not_ accept that. Not even his warped mind could wrap around the absurdity. _Coincidental?_ Are you saying she died because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time? What kind of jacked-up excuse is that? She had a boyfriend. She had a _son_. Why did she have to die?

Of course, there was no answer.

Where was all that proclamation of fairness and justice spoke of all the time in court or church?

Grimmjow laughed. There was no justice.

Ever since Rangiku's untimely demise, the subject of death has never left his mind and the seclusion of grief has left him bitter and sore. All he wanted was a little meaning in this world and maybe an itsy-bitsy amount of conceivable compassion. Ya' know, just for kicks, let's add a slab of retribution to his wish list.

Let us ask these long list of graves, here, from this nameless tombstone to the marble angel atop the rock over there. Let's ask them where their comfort is. Where does their justice lie?

His only answer was the pummeling drizzle of an incessant downpour. Snarling, Grimmjow whirled away, bidding Rangiku's grave a sullen goodbye and shoving his hands in his pockets to avoid punching something with his fists.

"Awful weather, isn't it?"

Grimmjow paused dead in his tracks. Without moving a muscle, he glanced to his left and then his right, trying to construe where the voice-out-of-nowhere had appeared from. Realizing it could only have been from behind, he whips himself around, and is dismayed to find only air.

Annoyed, he scowls. "Che. Damn rain. Must be messing with my hearing now."

He continued his trek to exit the graveyard. It must have been his own conscience just expressing more disdain for the rain. Still, it would have been nice to hear another share his hatred for the sorrowful weather. It would have been a tad placating, at least.

"Getting closer."

Again.

No one was around! Only him, the rows of graves, that alabastar statue of an angel glaring down at him with glowing green eyes...!

_Hold on._

"Ah, figured it out?" Grimmjow could only stare. Not his fault. He had never been in this sort of situation before. He doesn't know what you're supposed to do when you're confronted by a talking statue. He skipped that class last semester.

"You...are...talking?" He managed to rasp out, eyes bulging out of their sockets. "You...you're...N-no way! This is crazy!"

The angel sighed. Long, flowing black wings protruded from his back. A pale outfit donned his slim body, blending with his already ivory-colored skin. His ebony tresses contrasted greatly with this, silky strands matching instead his obsidian wings. His entire appearance was bathed in black and white; all except the twin emeralds blazing through Grimmjow's very core as the creature before him stared back.

He could not help but be enthralled. Even if he was imagining this - yes, that _has_ to be it, has to be fantasy - it's one hell of an imagery.

"I know you think I am fictitious," that deep voice drawled again, causing a shiver to ripple down his spine, "but do not be fooled. I am an angel. I am as real as the hair on your head."

Yeah, thank God his hair wasn't abnormal or anything, ya' know, being _blue_ and all.

"I don't believe you," he deadpanned. Glaring, he went on, "Now go away. I have things to do."

"Hmph." The self-proclaimed angel acted as if stung. "How rude. Most people would have the common courtesy to say hello."

"Excuse me, then. I'm not known to be a very courteous person."

"I know," was the infuriating reply. "I'm Ulquiorra, by the way. Cifer Ulquiorra."

"I didn't ask."

"So it would seem."

Grimmjow snorted, clasping his head in annoyance. "You are one irritation illusion, you know that?"

"Why do you not trust my word?" asked the angel, tilting his head to the side in wonder.

Grimmjow scoffed, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe 'cause there ain't no such thing as angels!" He shook his head, muttering, "Must be having a bad trip. Probably went home and drowned my sorrows in some whiskey before coming here and I just don't remember."

"No, before you came here, you were finishing an essay for your homework assignment due tomorrow. However, you unable to focus and managed to pop out a mediocre C at best. And so you came here to visit the source of your distraction."

Grimmjow whipped around and glared in amazement as the stoic voice described a very detailed, very accurate, account of his whereabouts. Ulquiorra failed to mention it, but he had been alone through the duration of all those events. How could he have _possibly_ known all of that?

"How did you know that?" he demanded aloud, hissing the words out in a rush.

Pale-dressed shoulders shrugged. "I told you, I'm an angel. Weren't you listening, you idiotic brute?"

Grimmjow immediately bristled. "Shut the fuck up, ya' creepy...winged...thingy!"

Even he has to admit, that was pitiful.

"Your wit continues to astound me," Ulquiorra comments dryly. In favor of keeping whatever dignity he has left, he does not reply. Just stands there as the water continues to pelt them.

"Are you a ghost?" Grimmjow questioned suddenly. Ulquiorra rolled his eyes.

"You teenagers and your ghostly delusions," he sighed, shaking his head.

Not one to be taken as a fool, Grimmjow huffed indignantly. "Well, what is it then?"

"As humans, when you die, if you are free of punishing shackles and have led a decent life, you are granted white wings," Ulquiorra elaborated in an intellectual tone. "White signifies the ascent, the acceptance of death and the peace it grants you."

Grimmjow, not an oblivious drone, noticed the obvious difference. "Your wings aren't white," he pointed out.

Ulquiorra nodded, for once deciding not to chide him for being an idiot. "When a human dies, there is not always the sweet release of serenity and bliss...For sometimes, there is interference of sorts."

"Interference?" repeats Grimmjow.

"An unmarked grave, an improper burial. It could be as simple as that. Sometimes the disturbance is deeper; an unsolved murder, a conspiracy, an evil deed or two draped with scum and sin."

Despite his usual demeanor, Grimmjow listened intently, with such uncharacteristic interest it was...bizarre.

"When you die like that, you are not shown the light," Ulquiorra continued gravely. "Instead, we are given black wings like these and forced to wander until eternal rest or something better comes along. Black represents difference and restlessness. "

Grimmjow mulled this, looking towards the ground, mildly vexed. "Like...like how many people are out there who...end up like this?"

Without looking at him, Ulquiorra shrugged, green eyes seeking out the horizon. "Thousands," he guessed softly. "Perhaps millions. All lingering black-wings searching for what is called 'their requiem.'"

Grimmjow swallowed past the thick lump forming in his throat. "And do most of them...ya' know...?"

"Find it?" Ulquiorra finished. Sadly, he shook his head. "No. Most end up being restless forever."

A quiet atmosphere decended. Grimmjow took time to digest all this, and the angel gave him the time to do it.

"Your friend has been dead for some time now," Ulquiorra said matter-of-factly. "Yet you still linger. Why so? That is not usually in your gruff nature."

Grimmjow growled deep in the back of his throat. "None of your damn business!"

"Perhaps," the angel shrugged, intertwining his hands behind his back. His dark wings spread as if to stretch, releasing a short shower of black feathers to lash out in the damp weather.

Mesmerized by their descent, he watched as the miraculous feathers turned to ash upon coming into contact with the soggy ground. He opened his mouth to say something, but dumbly shut it upon seeing the angel's calm composure as he too watched their descent.

"Perhaps not." Ulquiorra gave him a leveled look. "I've been sent here for a purpose, you know. From here on out, I am to be your guardian."

A 'guardian angel?' How cliche.

"And why exactly should I listen to you?" Grimmjow barked, crossing his arms. "Why should I do anything you say?"

"Because," the black-winged being explained simply, "I can show you the deeper meaning to life you so desperately seek. I can help you find the reason you want."

The proposition this angel was offering him both appalled and intrigued Grimmjow. How had he known of his doubts, of all the dark ponderings roaming about his dreaded mind lately? He didn't talk to anyone about it, which according to his friends, was half his problem. So how could this guy have known...?

There was only one logical conclusion. And the ironic thing was, it meant this Ulquiorra was truly an honest-to-freaking-god angel.

Well, angel or not, Grimmjow mused, his offer was inexplicably alluring. It was, after all, what he sought most of all. And it was indeed a wonderful distraction from life's otherwise dull misgivings.

But one thing still daunted him, and being the jerk he was, Grimmjow was not so easily convinced. He still certainly had his suspicions. He was the kind of animal to bite the hand that fed him if the situation deemed it necessary.

"What's in it for you then?"

"Me?" questioned Ulquiorra, as if he had not heard, when Grimmjow knows damn well he had. He feels as though this might be a problem later on, but to think as such would provide the pretense of this 'angel' being around a while.

So in favor of getting his answer this instant, instead of more preluding riddles, he pressed, "Yeah. What are you getting out of this?"

Ulquiorra glanced at him, expression cold and apathetic.

"I believe that would be obvious." Oh yes, he can see it now. They would get along smashingly, so long the blue-haired maniac could keep himself from getting pissed every ten minutes.

"Indulge me," he grunted. The angel turned away from him, dark locks swaying to and fro as his wings spread again, soaring through the twilight as his elegant legs swept into the air, latching onto a tombstone a distance away. Grimmjow waited, brow furrowed and eyes uncertain, as the mystical being balanced on top of the granite veered to face him once more.

Looking into those unreadable eyes of jewels, Grimmjow wonders what he's gotten himself into.

"Why, my freedom of course."

* * *

><p>I hope that was okay. This isn't one of my best chapters, but the story gets way better in later ones. I already have second chapter done. The more reviews I get, the faster I'll post it.<p> 


	2. Faith

_Hold it together_

_Birds of a feather_

_Nothing but lies and crooked wings_

_I have the answer, spreading the cancer_

_You are the faith inside me_

_-Breaking Benjamin, Evil Angel_

**_xXxXxXxXx_**

The name is Jaegerjaquez Grimmjow. For the sake of the greater good, please don't wear it out.

He was not usually one to complain - unless he was supremely pissed - but this situation definitely warrants it.

A week or so ago, a very close friend of his passed away. 'Passed away' is putting is nicely. She was blown away by a gun, cruel bullet piercing her into the next world.

And he could not get over it. Would you?

It was not only the fact that someone he cared about died - it was the fact that her death had no reason, no _meaning_ to it. If death had no meaning, then what the fuck did living stand for?

Which brings Grimmjow to the beginning of his onslaught of problems. To find the meaning and reasons he sought, he was sent an angel - yes, _angel_ - and yes, he is _very_ serious. A guardian angel with black wings, emerald eyes and snow-white skin.

Who went by the name of Ulquiorra.

* * *

><p>The morning daylight was streaming like ribbons of flawless sunshine. It was a beautiful morning in every sense. Clear, blues skies. Not a cloud in sight. A slight chill from the breeze.<p>

Grimmjow stood in the midst of it, drinking his tepid coffee in silence. Nearby, a group of citizens were selling baked goods and drinks outside of some shop. One of the kids was ringing a bell and skipping around to find potential suckers to deposit some coins into his cute little bucket.

"What are we doing here?" he finally asks, after a whole ten minutes of immobility. The angel hovering beside him gives him a blank look before following his line of vision.

"There," Ulquiorra replied, pointing at the little boy carrying the bell. "That is why we're here."

Grimmjow made a face, squinting his eyes to scrutinize the boy better. Cherubic little face with a bit of auburn hair poking out from under his hat and a pair of blue eyes beckoning to the public to spare some change for his cause. What was so special about that?

Grimmjow snorted dryly. "So...what? Is this kid supposed to restore my faith in the love that all people are capable of?"

"No," Ulquiorra responded brusquely. "He has cancer."

Grimmjow's attitude abruptly faltered. "What?"

"Leukimia," Ulquiorra nodded, ignoring the hardened aghast that has settled upon his companion's face. "Three months, four days, twelves hours. In that time, Miyoko Kazuya will be dead."

"Geez, do you have it down to the minute? Second?" Grimmjow grunted. Ulquiorra ignored the irritable comment.

"Rest assured though, he will be one of the white-winged."

"Hey, shut up already!" shouted the blue-haired man, unwilling to hear anymore. His temper was bad at the worst of times, but Ulquiorra sure knew how to get him going.

"Calm yourself, heathen," placated the stoic angel, causing him to scowl despicably. Emerald eyes cast themselves towards the scowl, unfazed by the fury held within his glare.

"I am merely making a point."

"A point? Like the point of you being a total jackass?" he retorted madly.

But the pale creature only shrugged. "I'm dead. What's your excuse?"

Grimmjow opened his mouth to retort with some wise-ass comeback...and promptly closed it.

"I see." Were those green orbs gleaming with amusement? "About the boy. There was a point to it."

Again, he felt himself being overwhelmed with sardonic sentiments. "Oh, yeah? Enlighten me, oh wise one."

"Is your body being pulverized by a poison meant to save your life which is actually ulitmately going to slowly kill you from the inside out?"

Grimmjow grinded his teeth back to the gum, biting down on the urge to punch the creature's - human or not - lights out. _"No."_

"And yet he is making the very best of what he has left." Ulquiorra stared off towards the boy obliviously jingling his bell. "Tell me, does that make you envious? He is so happy yet dying. You're miserable and-"

"Shut. Up." He ordered through tightly clenched teeth. He dug his hands even deeper into his pockets, a compulsive action whenever he felt he was about to do something drastic.

The angel acted as though he didn't hear. "Yet there he is, dying of an incurable ailment, but still trying to do good by others. Trying to save others from suffering the same fate as he. You would think he would hate this world and all it's inhabitants, after foresaking him so."

The last words barely drip from the corners of those dead lips before he lashes out, seizing the collar of his neck, dragging him so they are mere inches apart, Grimmjow's breath seething and warm on his indifferent visage.

"What's your deal?" he yells, ignoring the faint victory at seeing the angel's jolt of surprise. His smugness is gone quicker than it appeared, for that face immediately melts into it's original monotony.

"My deal?" mirrored Ulquiorra. "I'm merely doing what I am meant do to. My reason for existing at the time being is guiding you."

"What the hell does any of this," Grimmjow hisses venomously, "have to do with me and my questions?"

He lets go of him then, unsure of why he really grabbed him so roughly in the first place. He doubts he actually hurt him. Nor did he put a dent in his ego or pride. The black-winged man brushes himself off.

"You seek answers from humanity," Ulquiorra goes on smoothly. "You want to know why I show you this child? Because he is a prime example of unfair suffering. He is going to die, thousands of innocent of children like him are going to die. Death is inevitable, inescapable."

Grimmjow gulps, suddenly calm. All evidence of his temper seems to have flown the coop. "He doesn't deserve to die."

Ulquiorra nods his head in agreement. "I am certain you are all too aware of the fact that a lot of people die who don't deserve it. But there are also people who _do_ deserve it. Then there are those who live, even when they deserve death."

"So what does that mean?" the blue-haired youth demands.

"Death has no preferrence. No prejudice or reason. That is a choice only the living can make."

These words, Grimmjow realizes, are true. Do diseases care who they off? No. Does the Reaper have any motive for death other than death itself? Hell no. _Humans_ cared. _People_ had motives. People who let other lives slip between their finger tips. People who neglected and let things perish. People who bought guns and shot people.

"Do you get it now?" The angel questions, breaking him from his inner insights.

"I beginning to," he admits grudgingly. "Can I ask just one more thing?"

Green eyes flashed over to him. "I'm listening."

"Is he...do you think when good people are in so much pain...death is a relief?"

"Could you be more explanatory with your question?"

"I mean...if let's say a soldier on the battlefield was caught in a mine explosion...his leg or arm or whatever is torn off. He's slowly dying, bleeding out and wasting away...wouldn't it...wouldn't it be a blessing if someone were to just take and gun and...end it?"

"Yes," the angel conceded after a few careful moments of thought. "Does that make you feel any better?"

"Yeah, actually." Grimmjow blinked, eyes narrowing. "Why do you care?"

Pale lips curl up into what might be the ghost of a wry smile. "Why, indeed?"

Grimmjow glances back at the boy still happily ringing his bell through the air, turning back to his companion only to find air. The fading remnants of the angel once beside him are lost to the breeze.

"That's not an answer," he argues, with no one there to hear it.

His angel is gone like a phantom.

* * *

><p>Class goes by like a dull thrumming in his ears, perpetual sounds and motions to the infinite lobe known as the brain. Grimmjow is less than stimulated by the ongoing lecture his professor is dribbling on about. More so, he is distracted.<p>

Who wouldn't be in the same situation?

Grimmjow had always prided himself in being a skeptical and rational man. Despite being claimed as a lunatic on many occasions, he was never one to be mistaken as delusional. Unicorns, zombies, aliens - you name it. He had always denied their existence in favor of grim logic.

Angels especially.

But the proof before him now was overwhelming.

"-jow? Grimmjow?" The blue-haired man snapped out of it, whipping behind him to see who was itching for his attention. He scowled when he saw.

"What do you want, Kurosaki?"

Kurosaki Ichigo gave him a bland look, not so jolly to see him either. He's known him since they were in grade school. They used to be playground buddies. Nowadays, they have more of a love/hate relationship.

For one thing, their personalities opposed each other. Kurosaki is so righteous and caring. Beneath that scowl, the guy is just one soft, teddy bear. Underneath Grimmjow's rough exterior, there was bone.

Since entering college, they had become somewhat of rivals to one another. Kurosaki was majoring in journalism, hoping to get a job at some newspaper and be an investigative reporter. Reminded him a little too much of a Japanese-version of Peter Parker.

Grimmjow was majoring in creative writing. Reporting and journalism was all about finding the truth. He knew the truth already. The truth was important, yet dreadfully boring. Reality was grating. In the long run, making your own story is just the better task in life.

It was an easy enough course that he usually breezed through, exlcuding long, boring lectures and lengthy assignments. Kurosaki worked hard too, from what he saw in the classes they shared.

Grudgingly, Grimmjow had developed some respect for his berry-headed peer. His father was a well-known and highly respected doctor. With all the revere and adoration the elder Kurosaki had gained over the years, it would have been a cinch for his son to find a career in the medical studies. He already had the experience from helping out his old man.

Instead Ichigo chose to pursue an occupation of his own, unwilling to take any hand-outs or shortcuts. It was a bold and gutsy move, which Grimmjow himself would have done if placed in the same shoes.

"Nothing," the orange-haired youth shrugged, causing Grimmjow's scowl to increase. "You were spacing really bad. I just wondered if you had gotten the assignment Sensei just gave us."

Assignment? _Shit._ He really had been spacing.

By the amused look on Kurosaki's face, the bastard knew he had missed it too.

"I can give it to you," he offered kindly, knowing how his sweetness made Grimmjow want to gag.

He had a difficult choice; get the assignment from Strawberry or fail a paper. Granted, he had failed papers before and it had not been so terrible; he still had fairly well marks. But when he took the matter of Ulquiorra into account...

Considering how he may be distracted for a while yet, he probably couldn't afford to fail any more papers. Regardless, he stil felt disgruntled at the small blow to his pride. Asking for help was never his forte.

"Fine," he conceded, albiet gruffly. "Give me yer damn notes."

Kurosaki blinked in astonishment. Usually, Grimmjow put up a hell of a lot more fight and the dispute almost always ended with him threatening to bash that orange head in while his colleague laughed himself to death. It was a back-and-forth banter they had going.

"Oh. Sure." Without a witty remark, he handed him the notes to which Grimmjow accepted with a nod.

"You were really spacing back there," Kurosaki comments. "In fact, your face was indulged in such intense thought, I assumed you might actually be paying attention and learning something."

Grimmjow snorted, but said nothing more.

Again, he refused to rise to the bait. Kurosaki seemed completely put-off by his mood. Unlike him, the other viewed him as an equal and one of his oldest companions. To see him like this, he was bound to be pertubed.

"Are you okay?" he asked, brow knitting in something akin to worry. Like he said - this guy was pure stuffing on the inside. "You seem- I don't know, distracted."

The blue-haired student merely hummed. "Yes, I am. I'm trying to concentrate on copying these notes, but there's this annoying buzzing tone that reminds me of a certain carrot-topped idiot."

A wry smirk lit up said idiot's face. "Excuse me. Just a little disturbed, is all. You don't seem your usual 'I'm-going-rip-your-throat-out-and-laugh-about-it-later' kind of self today."

_Boy, does he have me pegged,_ Grimmjow inwardly laughs. On the outside, he shrugs.

"Yeah, well, you're radar must be off." He shakes his head. "I'm fine. Only a bit distracted. Nothing for you to get your pink-primmed panties in a twist over."

His assurance is weak. But before Kurosaki can open his mouth to argue, the bell rings and he shoves back the notes and marches out the door before the latter can cook up a response.

* * *

><p>Being a college student isn't cheap. Especially when you decide to house yourself in a one-bedroom, one-bath within walking distance of the campus.<p>

Which is where work comes in.

He can't complain all too much about his job. He worked for old man Zangetsu at his hardware store, stacking boxes in the back and doing cleanups here and there. His boss is lenient; there he sits now, engrossed in the newspaper while his employee slaves away. Plus, there aren't a lot of other workers around, which provides the silence he so desperately needs right now-

"You missed a stain a little to your left." Grimmjow blinks, lifts his head, and mutely groans as he notices the familiar figure leaning in the corner.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He makes sure to stress the _you_ and _here_ parts.

"Floating. You?"

Grimmjow growls. "Working. See, us living men have to work our asses off to support ourselves and keep at least a little food in the fridge."

"Uh huh," Ulquiorra mutters dispassionately. "So true. What would you do without your stock of instant ramen, T.V. dinners, canned goods and beer?"

This brings a rueful smirk to the blue-haired worker's face. "Okay, point taken. Still, do you have to be here while I work? It's bad enough just the thought of you distracts me during class."

"You think of me during class?" was the dull retort.

Grimmjow pauses and realizes how wrong that actually sounds.

"N-no! You misunderstand! It's not like, I meant-! Argh! You jackass, you know I didn't-!"

"Grimmjow?"

He is ashamed to say that he jumps and nearly releases and embarrassing 'meep' sound when the abrupt voice of his boss calls out. Then, with all the grace and manner of a blind antelope, he swerves around and tries to look as calm and cool as possible. Holding a mop.

"Yeah, boss?" He questions, nonchalantly clearing his throat.

Zangetsu raises a reproachful brow. "Who are you talking to?"

Grimmjow can feel the heat rise to his face before blanching white. _Fuck, don't I look crazy?_

He can practically hear the angel behind him rolling those green eyes.

"Uh...well...I...no one. No one at all!" Denial seemed to be the easiest and safest route. "No, I wasn't talking to anyone." He scoffed. "Your must be goin' deaf, old man."

Deflecting worked pretty well too.

Zangetsu hummed in the back of his throat, the only clear sign of his irritation. He gave his blue-haired employee a disbelieving glance before once again covering his face with the newspaper.

Grimmjow exhaled in relief. He really had to careful about how loud he spoke to his angel with company around. At this rate, he would be sent to looney bin before he managed to learn anything.

And the deep, meaningful lesson; that's what this whole exchange was about, right?

Right.

Nonetheless, he had to remind himself not to look over and speak to the wall again and resume his work. In the back of his mind, he knew the raven-haired angel was already gone.


	3. Linger

This chapter is mainly back round knowledge, not very exciting, I apologize. Not much dialogue either, but I make up for it next chapter I swear!

Disclaimer: Do not own. Unfortunately...*sigh*

**_XxXxXxXxXxXxX_**

_It all started when I lost my mother_

_No love for myself, and no love for another_

_Searching to find a love up on a higher level_

_Finding nothing but questions and devils_

_-Papa Roach, Last Resort_

* * *

><p><em>Mom.<em>

It had all started with her. His problem with death, of course. Before that, life had been easy going without a care in the world. He had thought himself invincible. There was no way he could be broken.

He had assumed the same applied to his family.

One day changed everything. He remembers his loving mother pulling him into her arms as if he were just a toddler again. He had just gotten home from school, confused, asking her what was wrong, why was she acting this way?

All he had gotten in return was her usual soft smile. But there was a sadness in her eyes, one he was unsure how to erase. And then while she held him like a child, she explained to him like an adult what exactly she had found out at her appointment that day.

The whole experience had been bewildering. For one, his mom was a prominent emergency medicine doctor. The most respected and skilled in the entire city! How...how was it she had gotten cancer?

Another sadistic mystery of life. Someone so pleasant and hard-working, who brought people back from the brink of death every day, died at the age of 43.

It was unfathomable. It was unfair. There was no reason for it. Much like there was no reason Rangiku had been shot. It just left Grimmjow with an unforgivable bitterness in his heart.

* * *

><p>It had been an ordinary evening after work and school. Grimmjow was reclining on his chair and enjoying the leisure time, when an unexpected vibration jolted him right out of the cushion.<p>

The vibration had come from his crotch.

Swearing, he reached for the culprit to find his cell phone was the source of the offending sensation. He flushed dumbly. He had _completely_ forgotten he had shoved it down there.

Cheeks aflame, he angrily flipped open the damn thing to see who had texted him.

It was Neliel. Figures.

_Where r u, dumb-butt?_

Charming, as always.

_Home, where i intend to stay. I'm beat. _

He awaited her explosive response. He was surprised to read a much more laid-back approach.

_Yeah, me either. Nnoi and I are jus hangin at his place. Who goes to da movies on a Thursday anyway? :P_

He chuckled at that. How he applauded her wit sometimes.

_Yeah, we're so cool like dat(; but b4 u ask, i don't think i'm gonna come ovr. I got a chapter to read for Lit class. And it's jus one of those nights, ya kno?_

The kind where he just wanted to drink himself into a stupor without Nnoitra next to him playing 'think of all the dirty jokes you can while sufficiently saving time to insult your wasted drinking buddy'. Which Grimmjow rocks at, by the way.

_Haha very funny. I'm astounded you read in the first place._

The rest is sent separately.

_And it's cool, i guess. I mean, i know how it is for u on this day. So i'll let it slide. Next time, ur ass is mine Jaegarjaquez!(:_

_Lol. U wish! -_He starts to type back, but pauses. Today? What the hell did she mean by _today?_

He clicked through the annoying device until he found the digital calendar(don't ask why he doesn't know the date). When he saw it, the gears in his brain twisted into place.

_Oh._

He recalls now. Funny how Nel remembered that little detail before himself. No wonder he was feeling so down in the dumps today without even knowing why.

It was the day his dad left, five years ago. Went off to explore the world, or maybe destroy it. With Dad, it could have gone either way. Grimmjow smirks as all the fond, utterly hilarious, memories flood his consciousness now.

His dad may have been called insane. At times, it _was_ questionable. His dad was said to be intimidating. Well, duh. The guy was freakin' huge. His dad has been called many things. But people can say what they want, Dad never cared and nor does Grimmjow. His old man taught him a bunch of valuable lessons in life.

His dad taught him patience and tact:

_"Hurry up in there, I have to piss! I swear to God if you're jacking off, I'm gonna cut if off!"_

His dad taught him strategy:

_"Now, I'll go order the food while you run out in front of the car and let it clip you. In the ensuing confusion, I grab the food and we split, so you better not get hit in the legs."_

His dad taught him to control his temper:

_"Get outta my way before I run you down and tear your arms off to use as fly-swatters."_

His dad taught him the best way at maintaining a long and prosperous marriage:

_"Don't tell your mother what just happened."_

Good times.

Say what you will about his father, but don't you dare accuse him of being unoriginal. There was no denying that.

Sometimes, Grimmjow will admit, he wonders where his old man might be. Along with his little sister. After his mom died, the thread binding their family together fell apart at the seams.

Dad quit his questionable job of being a hitman for a Yakuza boss - most likely eliciting the rage of many disgruntled clients - and left Karakura with his sister in tow. It wouldn't have been hard to follow their trail, and he thinks that his old man might not have even objected if he decided to follow.

His dad and him weren't close, and the old bastard was never that open with his feelings. But they were family, for better or worse. Grimmjow wouldn't have traded his unconventional family for the world.

Sure, he could whine about being left behind. But maybe it was for the better. He was tougher now. Stronger. He proved he could stand on his own two feet and walk on them too, instilling a great sense of pride.

He should be angry. Perhaps he is.

But between being angry at an unfair world and a devious God of Death who took his mother away, he figures he can let this slide.

* * *

><p>Grimmjow had just exited his last class of the day, breathing a sigh of relief. You ever get that end-of-the-day feeling where all your energy dumps down the drain and you feel like you just wanna drop? Anyone forced to go through the education system will know what he means.<p>

At least he didn't have work today. All he wanted to do was go home, crack open a cold one, and celebrate a day without his pestering guardian.

Hm. That's right. He hasn't seen Ulquiorra all day. Odd. _Well, knowing him,_ the blue-haired student thinks to himself, _he'll probably just pop out of nowhere and scare the shit out of me again._

Yeah, that seemed likely.

So submerged in his thoughts, Grimmjow paid no attention to where was he walking until he bumped into something small that bounced off him with a loud _Oof!_

"Oh!" A little voice cried, startled. "I'm sorry, sir! I didn't see you there!"

"No, it's my fault," he sighed, brushing off the apology. Grimmjow looked down and realized he recognized this child.

It was the kid Ulquiorra had shown him. The one dying of Leukemia.

He felt his stomach plummet to the floor as the kid cheerfully dusted himself off.

"Okie dokie," he sang, reaching down to retrieve his abandoned bucket. Up close, Grimmjow could hear the jingle of change from within.

"While you're here sir, would you like to make a donation?" The boy - Kazuya was his name - inquires, pointing to the table in front of the store. "Or you could go over there where my family is collecting funds!"

He glanced over and saw a middle-aged woman manning the main donation table with the same eyes as the boy. She looked tired, but determined. Another boy sat to her right, older and solemn. A tiny girl younger than Kazuya with darker hair but the same eyes was selling lemonade.

The family the boy was leaving behind.

Grimmjow knew what it was like to be left behind. It wasn't something he liked to muse on often.

Without thinking, the blue-haired student is reaching into his wallet, sacrificing his own needed funds. He grabbed a crisp bill and handed it to the boy with a mumbled offering.

What the hell was he doing?

"Wow, thanks mister!" Kazuya exclaimed, beaming up at him with such gratitude. All for a lousy five bucks. "Your generous donation is greatly appreciated!"

"Uh...sure kid." Inwardly sighing, he reached back into the wallet and coughed up the rest of his money. "Here, I forgot. I have some more to spare."

If the kid hadn't been worshipping him before, this made him golden.

"Thank you so much!" Kazuya praised happily. "It's for a really good cause, I promise! With this money, kids like me might be able to get better."

_'Kids like me.' But not **you.**_

Something very frank and very sad occurred to Grimmjow at that moment in time:

_And he knows this. Knows he is going to die of a disease he cannot control._

"Mister?" He snaps out of it, looks in the direction of the impish voice. Kazuya aims an incredible smile at him. "Thank you, again. Have a nice day!"

Despite his normally foul disposition, Grimmjow feels the edges of his mouth quirk up.

"You too, kid."

Kazuya waves goodbye as Grimmjow pedals forward, deeper into the mesh of people and away from the dying boy. A happy, dying boy. Huh. What an odd concept.

And strangely, a hopeful one.

He pauses at the edge of the street.

"This doesn't mean you've won."

The figure leaning against the wall on the corner, invisible to everyone but him, does not even bother to open his eyes.

"Odd. I wasn't aware this was a contest."

Grimmjow chuckled.

_Prick._

* * *

><p>This one is short, but I like the ending. I did enjoy writing about Grimmjow's family. Any guess who they might be?(:<p>

**A/N: **So, I've noticed the hits on this story going up a little everyday, but the lack of feedback it's received. It's kind of sad, as I do love writing and I try and work hard to satisfy my readers. This story starts out slow but a real good plotline is developing. I have a lot of other chapters mostly done. I could update pretty fast if I was swayed. I just want to know, is anyone enjoying this, or should I just discontinue..?


	4. Rememberance

Wow. Thank you to all who reviewed the last few days, they were all flattering! Your enthusiastic(slightly threatening) replies for me to go on were very encouraging! Which is great, since I love enthusiastic(sometimes slightly threatening)! I will be whole-heartedly happy to continue this story(:

And don't feel bad, I know what you guys means about loving a story but not always getting around to review it; we've all been guilty of that. It's just very nice to know that my story is enjoyed and makes it a lot more enjoyable to go on.

So without further adieu, I give you the fourth chapter(:

**_XxXxXxXxXxXxX_**

_Like the angel you are_

_You laugh creating_

_A lightness in my chest_

_Your eyes they penetrate me(never cease to amaze me)_

_That's when I got up and left_

_-Rise Against, Like the Angel _

* * *

><p>Grimmjow dreamnt oddly that night.<p>

He cannot recall the dream that well, and throughout the entirely his vision had been mostly obscured anyway. He has a vague recollection of faint colors and blurs; familiar voices of people he knows and has known for most of his life.

So why on earth his guardian angel's voice happened to be present, distinct and audible above the rest, was a mystery to him.

And yet...he could no longer deny it. As he spent more and more time with the dark angel, he could feel the curiosity rearing it's annoying head at every which turn. There was something _so_ _utterly familiar_ about Ulquiorra...Like he had seen him before, heard his voice long ago and committed it to memory; like he _belonged_ amongst the others in his vision of memorable peers.

No matter how Grimmjow tried to ignore the nagging suspicion, it was relentless in it's pursuit. Constantly gnawing at the edge of his mind, so close but not enough for him to _remember-_

Suffice to say, he hadn't gotten as much sleep as he had hoped for. Oh, well.

Warm water always managed to clear his head.

After the shower and a quick dressing, a low and urgent grumbling in his stomach made it's intent very clear. Time for some breakfast.

Raiding the fridge, he found his options slim. But to his delight, he managed to scrounge up a particularly tasty-looking egg. He could scramble it, thus making a mess out of the dishes he would have to do later. On second thought, hard-boiled sounded much more appetizing.

He scratched his the back of his head as he scrutinized the unblemished egg in his hand. His gaze slowly drifted over to the pot full of water. Egg. Water. Egg. Water.

Finally, he just let the damned thing _plop_ into the pot and flipped the burner on with a sigh. He leaned against the counter and waited all of five minutes. Checked the egg. Stupid poultry-poop wasn't even soft!

Whatever. He waited for ten. Still nothing.

Now, he was no culinary genius, but he was pretty sure boiling a stupid egg shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes. Low and behold though, it wasn't done! Goddamn it, this was why he bought pre-made food! What the hell was wrong with this stove?

"Have you tried boiling the water first?" A cool voice suggested languidly.

"Fucking shit in basket-!" Grimmjow shouted with a jolt, eyes narrowing when he realized what had happened.

"How vulgar," cringed Ulquiorra.

"Stop. Doing. That!" he growled irritably. This popping out of nowhere shit was _really_ getting old.

"Stop cursing, maybe I will," Ulquiorra challenged, crossing his arms disapprovingly.

"Che. When pigs fly," sneered the sleepy student. A slim eyebrow rose dubiously.

"I'm a floating, winged angel," said angel stated very slowly. _"That_ is not enough for you?"

Grimmjow hated to admit it, but the winged creature had a point. Didn't make him any less annoyed by this fact.

"Okay, you can go the hell away now," he growled.

Ulquiorra's face is completely serene and casual, when after a short pause he states, "I've seen the true face of Hell."

It takes a while for Grimmjow to realize he was serious. Inquisitive interest gets the better of him. He always wondered what the place he would most likely end up after death was like.

"And?"

"And it was hot."

A beat.

For whatever inexplicable reason, the nonchalant response sent Grimmjow spiraling into a fit of laugher. Such unexpected chuckles had not escaped him in what seemed like forever.

"Are...are you serious?" he managed to cough out, after regaining his sense of speech. "Or are you just messing with me?"

"I am quite serious," the raven-haired angel replies evenly. "However, if you wish not to believe me, that is your choice. Personally, I find your conduct rather immature."

Grimmjow only proved his point by sticking his tongue out and pulling at the skin beneath his eye.

"Ah. How charming," muttered Ulquiorra sarcastically. Grimmjow grimaced but made no comeback. Instead he glared at his nowhere-near-cooked egg despondently.

"This sucks." He sighs again and blindly chucks the egg into the waste basket. The splatter he hears in return forces a groan from his mouth. "I am _not_ eating cereal for the hundredth time this month."

Ulquiorra opens his mouth to comment, but Grimmjow catches the witty remarks and silences him with a deadly 'Don't even think about it' look.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Grimmjow checks the clock and realizes he only has an hour before his first class of the day. And he doesn't even have pants on yet.

"Guess I'm getting coffee today."

* * *

><p>Since his favorite place to purchase coffee was a frequently visited shop for him and his friends, it was unsurprising that Grimmjow would end up seeing them there.<p>

"Yo, Grimmjow!" He heard someone call from over yonder. Bored eyes glanced in the general direction until they spotted the source of the yell waving a long arm at him.

"Oi, Nnoitra! No need to yell so damn loud!" The blue-haired student shouted back as he made his way over. "Too early for that volume."

"Early? Early? It's noon, you dope!" Neliel shrieked, making as if to whack him over the head. She fell short a few inches and deflated, banging her head on the table with a loud groan.

"She had an early lecture today," explained Szayel while Grimmjow sent the other an odd look.

"Doesn't mean she has to go beserk on me," he grumbled as he took a seat next to someone slightly less insane. "Look! Starrk's asleep right now!"

The occupants of the table all turned to see the drowsy brunette snoring away on the face of the table. Upon noticing a small puddle of drool protruding from his slouch, Nnoitra resolved to move his drink a few inches over.

"That's different," Nel piped, her pathetic look melting into a sour one. "Starrk's always asleep! What's your excuse?"

Ignoring her accusation, Grimmjow simply sighed. "Long night," he told them. Which, in reality, wasn't a total lie.

What else could he say?

'Hey guys, I'm being haunted by a so-called guardian angel who is actually some dead yet awfully familiar kid whom is supposed to lead me to some kind of life-changing revelation yada yada yada...'

Yes, that would go over so well.

Meanwhile, his luckily oblivious peers accepted his answer like knowlegeable college students.

"Don't I know it!" Szayel shook his head miserably. "My science research paper was due the exact same day as my medical essay was! God, you do not want to know how much coffee I went through to pull an all-nighter!"

"Mah, that's nothing!" scoffed Nnoitra. "My engineering thesis was no walk in the park! I had to freakin' finish that thing eleven minutes before the deadline! Fuckin' eleven minutes."

"Hm." Szayel huffed, unimpressed. "Well, unlike your work, mine is always done to perfection."

Nnoitra snarled. "Prissy."

Spectacled eyes narrowed. "Uncouth behemoth."

"Pink-haired fag."

"Lowlife scum."

"Ladies," Neliel warned, but not without a hint of amusement in her tone. "Please. Your ruining this beautiful afternoon with your usual banter. Besides," she snorted, "you're both assholes."

Both men gaped in offense, while Grimmjow could only snicker. When Nnoitra elbowed him the ribs for it, he shrugged helplessly. "Can't argue with logic!"

While the three continued to bicker - and Starrk continued to slumber - Grimmjow's train of thought once again tilted elsewhere, back to the inescapable identity of his guardian. The suspense was thick now and quite bothersome; he felt as if he was so close to grasping the resemblance, to realizing while he felt such startling familiarity when around the dark creature.

To his dismay, he comes up empty once again.

A sudden idea occurs to him. Maybe, like him, the dead boy's name is not only familiar to him. And maybe, unlike him, one of his friends might just remember why.

"Hey, guys," he asked, and gained the majority of the group's attention as he spoke it. "Does the name Ulquiorra ring a bell with anyone?"

"Ulquiorra?" Nnoitra repeats questioningly, looking at him like he is slightly more deranged than normal. "No. Should it?"

"How do we know which one you're talking about?" inquired an apparently awake Starrk, without looking up. Nel stared at him.

"Yes, because it's _such_ a common name." Grimmjow rolled his eyes.

"Never know," the lazy brunette muttered. Honestly, why did he even bother?

"I'm serious! Come on, think a little, huh?" He wracked his own brain for some sort of clue. "Does it seem really familiar to anyone, or am I the only one?"

"No," negated a voice from the other side of the table. Mr. Pansy himself, Szayel. Pushing up his glasses from the bridge of his nose, looking as know-it-all as ever; Grimmjow narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "I remember him. He went to school with us."

"Who- Ulquiorra? Really?" The pink-haired med student nodded. "So, we _did_ know him?"

"At one point, yes," he answered matter-of-factly. "I don't know how you could forget, dear Grimmjow. You and him were quite the enemies back then."

Grimmjow's brow furrowed dubiously. "Come again?"

"Oh, yeah!" Nel exclaimed suddenly. "Ulquiorra! Real pale kid, dark hair - always beat Grimmjow real good in their verbal spars. Used to piss you off bad." She smirked lightly as the memory.

Well, good to see not that much has changed.

And that's when Grimmjow began to recall as well.

_Fifth grade. A classroom he can barely remember. Little desks and chairs and smaller versions of people he knows now. And an exact replica of his guardian only years younger._

_The teacher was some elderly bird-like woman, who could be a real crone when she wanted. But mostly she was nice enough to give them some free time like this before class to chat and run amok._

_"So then I ran away, 'cause the guy who owned the house was gonna be real mad when he found the eggs splattered on his windows!"_

_The group of kids who he had been vividly recounting his actions to - Tatsuki, Kurosaki, and Ishida - snickered whilst he beamed proudly at his accomplishment._

_"Yeah, well, ol' man Yammy deserved it," he chortled. To the nearest student passing by, he smirked. "Ain't that right, Ulquiorra?"_

_The student in question peered at him in disinterest before turning away and taking his seat directly in front of Grimmjow. Which was not all that surprising, since most everyone figured the kid was mute anyway._

_But Grimmjow never liked being brushed off and outwardly fumed. "Hey! You! Don't ignore me, you snobby twit!"_

_Green eyes whipped back to meet him, and the blue-haired child piqued excitedly, hoping to see some rage there as well. To his dismay, only brief annoyance and nothing else shone in those brillant orbs._

_"Trash," scoffed the bright-eyed child, moving to ignore the other's outburst. "You're not worth my time."_

_Grimmjow felt his temper boil._

_"Oh, yeah!" he had screeched indignantly in response. "You albino!"_

_"Albino's have white hair, genius," retorted Ulquiorra._

_A few of his classmates sniggered while Grimmjow's cheeks dusted a light pink._

_"Che. Whatever! Ya' stuck up...stuck up freak!"_

_To this, Ulquiorra merely shrugged. This is what had infuriated young Grimmjow most of all; that indifference. He opened his mouth to make sure his displeasure was know - as per usual - but then the teacher alerted the class to the beginning of their next lesson, so he bit back his remarks and sat back down in a huff._

"Yo, Grimmjow! Dude, you okay?"

Snapping out of it, the blue-haired youth immediately waved away the hand in front of his face. "Fine," he muttered dismissively.

"You were really spacing there," countered Nel, giving him a pointed glance. "You sure you're okay? You're acting kind of weird."

'"I'm fine." Like he said, it wasn't a complete lie. "Just tired. Really tired."

"Uh huh," Nnoitra remarked, unconvinced. "See if you'll be saying that when we have to break you out of the looney bin."

Seeing as those words weren't so far off from the truth, Grimmjow found this a prudent time to make his escape. "In fact," he continued, sitting up with a shrill screech of his chair, "I'm going to shove off now. See ya' guys."

"What about your coffee?" Szayel frowned.

"I'll just get one on the way," he ensured. "Bye."

"Bye?" Nel replied uncertainly.

Instead of goodbye, Nnoitra called out, "See ya' shitface!"

To which he retorted: "Back at you, dickmouth!"

* * *

><p>Exhausted physically and distraught mentally, Grimmjow was scarcely aware of his feet touching the floor, rather than the alleyway he had just cut into. A shortcut to home, it was all he wanted, when the sensation of something lurking along the alleyway with him abruptly stopped him from continuing.<p>

It wasn't so much as a _something_ as it was a _feeling._ He couldn't tell you _how_ or _what_ was fabricating the evil aura gathering behind him; all he knew is that there was some sort of presence behind him that made him freeze dead in his tracks.

A chill entered his body and traveled from the prickly hairs on his neck down to the soles of his feet in a split second flat. The cold refused to leave his body, the icy contempt worming it's way up his spine like a sly snake intent on swallowing him in frost.

But it wasn't _just_ the cold in the atmosphere that was so dreadfully wrong.

No, it was much more malevolent that that. It was as if all the happiness had been sucked from the world, leaving behind only misery and chills. Grimmjow swallowed, aghast at the permafrost he felt slide down his throat, and tried in vain to recall the happiest _- warmest -_ memory he could to banish the despair.

That was when Grimmjow felt the presence behind stir, and a low growl resonated through the alley. The very bricks on the wall seemed to quiver and peel in ungodly fear as the blue-haired teen tightened his fists to the point of his knuckles cracking white. He was scared, _terrified_ - yet he had no idea why. And so, to quell the mystery of the evil aura stalking behind him(he was never one to allow fear to have control), Grimmjow slowly turned around**_-_**

**_-_**and was met with ths startling sight of a creature that was anything but human.

Obsidian holes of blackness glared down at him, erupting with maliciousness and feral intent. A snake-liked tongue peeked out from the enormous mouth, revealing two rows of carnivorous teeth. The pink appendage appeared to mock him as it slid deliberately across the glittering canines before licking it's lips in anticipation. Imagining how it would soon savor the glorious meal it was about to claim.

Meal. Him. _Prey._

Grimmjow gulped, fear a sickening and unwelcomed lump lingering in the back of his throat.

_No,_ his mind gasped, the immobility of his lower half the source of his anxiety, _Fuck that! I'm nobody's victim! Or lunch!_

But his legs, which still refused to move, and the primal growl released by the ghastly beast begged to differ..

* * *

><p><em>Kind of a long chapter. And what's this? Gasp! Cliffhanger! Who knew? Certainly not this author, I assure you...it just kind of happened. <em>


	5. Hollow Men

_I got a tendency to self-destruct_

_And a soft spot for the filth_

_A hair trigger temperament_

_A switchblade for a tongue _

_I'm a walking one-man genocide_

_With a black belt in corrupt_

_-Five Finger Death Punch, Ashes_

* * *

><p>When fear has you frozen to the spot, unable to think or move, scared even though you don't want to be, with death <em>literally<em> staring you in the face in some inhuman form, only one thing prevails.

Instincts take over.

Grimmjow lashed out and punched the creature as hard as he could, fist striking it right in the face. His hand ached savagely upon impact, but the creature howled in pain and recoiled, sending a splash of joy and relief surging through him.

His euphoria was short-lived. The creature shook it's head, like dog after being smacked on the nose with newspaper would, and stared back at him with those empty obsidian eyes, an angry snarl reverberating from it's hissing mouth.

Whatever color lingered in his face abruptly drained. His hand stung immensely from the blow, he was trapped in this godforsaken alley with no means of escape, and all he'd managed to do was piss it off more.

Funnily enough, after realizing the end was nigh, the only thing on his mind was wondering if his teacher would be too upset when he never handed in his short story for his creative writing class.

Grimmjow shut his eyes tight and braced himself for the imminent pain of being torn to pieces and devoured.

The pain never came.

Out of nowhere, _he_ appeared.

Locking jaws with the beast, katana blocking the opponent's ravenous canines from tasting Grimmjow's succulent flesh. The beast roared in anger as Ulquiorra stood between them, unfazed, and held out his sword in what seemed to be a manner of challenge. The creature accepted with perilous sneer.

His guardian disappeared, and for a fleeting moment Grimmjow wondered if he'd been abadoned. But then he was back, behind the beast, and in a flash of light, severed the pallid flesh of the creature's left appendage. Shrill screaming erupted, leaving his ears ringing and bleeding. Think, black substance that resembled blood squirted out from the wound, the missing limb disintergrating on sight.

The beast writhed in agony as more of the tar substance spewed from the gaping hole. At last, it retreated with a hoarse growl of reluctance, and vanished.

Then it all got quiet. The only sound audible being his own panting breaths and Ulquiorra's katana shifting back into it's concealed form. With a soft hush of air from his lips, he gracefully turned back to the awed Grimmjow, not a hair out of place.

A splatter of tar-like blood on his clothes the only evidence of the entire battle.

"Let us take our leave. Quickly," he ushered, strutting away with a brisk gait. Grimmjow followed suit, abeit slowly, too overwhelmed to do anything else. "It won't be indisposed for long."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" He stopped moving altogether, as did the pale being ahead of him.

"What. The. Bloody. Hell. Was that?" Grimmjow cried, infuriated. And the only source of his rageful confusion right now was the black-winged angel before him.

Who seemed to take every one of his fits in stride.

"It cannot feel pain," Ulquiorra began to explain. The blue-haired youth was so tired of cryptic riddles. "A functional mind of any sort needs to be present to process actual pain."

"So, what, it's _mindless?_"

"Not only that. It's soulless," amended the raven-haired man. "That was a hollow."

_"A hollow?_" demanded Grimmjow. "What the hell is that?"

"A vacant being of great spiritual strength," said the pale-clothed man. "When a black-winged being such as myself loses what is left of their humanity, they become monstrous creatures only alive to wreak disaster and seek out the souls of the living."

"Damn," Grimmjow gasped, clasping his free hand around his bruised knuckles and wincing. "Damn!"

Regardless, one thing just didn't add up here.

"Hang on a minute," he beseeched, and his guardian complied, "Are these things always around? If so, how come I've never encountered one before?"

At this, Ulquiorra sighed. "I apologize. You could say this is my fault. Hollows are attracted to the presence of us black-wings, you see. They can sense the remnants of us attached to the humans we come in contact with. It was drawn to you for that reason."

Grimmjow was a cross of perplexed and perturbed. "You mean...they can smell us or some shit?"

"In essence, yes, I suppose you could phrase it like that." He ran a pale hand through silk-like raven tresses. "However, I apologize once again. I should have warned you beforehand, but I did not think one would strike so soon."

"No, it's cool," he forgave easily, which was odd for him. Even his guardian was bemused. A primal smirk brought some palor back to his face.

"I mean, you should have at least told me so that I could be prepared!" quipped Grimmjow, dauntless as ever. For once, Ulquiorra was stricken with his retort.

"Now, listen here, _human,_" the dead being made sure to emphasize that specific term. "These creatures are not to be taken lightly. They may be dead, but that does not mean they are so calm. They are ruthless. They feed off human souls. Take caution, do you understand me?"

"Don't sweat it," scoffed the zealous young man. Canines gleaming, he declared brazenly, "That one caught me off guard, is all. Now that I know what I'm up against, I'm ready to kick some hollow ass!"

Ulquiorra raised an elegant brow. "Are you quite serious?"

The smirk never left his face, swelling with confident bravado. "As a heart-attack."

Ulquiorra shook his head in exasperation. "You are either the most brave or most idiotic man I have ever met."

Grimmjow's feral grin melted, replaced by a look that, for all intense purposes, could be considered a pout. Ulquiorra remained deadpan while Grimmjow followed, pout still present.

"Can't I be both?"

* * *

><p>Grimmjow followed the gliding angel at a half-hearted pace, engrossed by the enigma his guardian had become.<p>

His guardian's flippiant elaboration on the hollows was disconcerting. Did that mean if Ulquiorra never found peace...if he was never able to rest...would he become such a creature, too?

The prospect of such bothers him more than he will admit.

"Ulquiorra!" he exclaimed suddenly, his feet shrieking to a halt. "Stop! I need to talk to you!"

The pale angel hovering in front of him instantly froze, twisting back to face him. He was almost scarily obediant under the most serious circumstances.

"Ulquiorra...I want you to be frank with me." He wants to assume that he has been so since they met. "Why do you have black wings?"

Emerald irises widen significantly, unreadable thoughts brewing within, and suddenly, he looks away. Blue eyes narrow in exasperation.

"Hey, I'm speaking to you! I'm trying to help! Why won't you-" And then something occurs to Grimmjow. What if Ulquiorra _couldn't_ tell him? That must be it, right, why else wouldn't he have said anything before?

"Okay, so I am guessing...you can't tell me what it is?"

Silence ensued. He takes this as a _yes._

"Alright, alright," he conceded. "I have to figure it out then?"

Greens eyes bore into him relentlessly, glassy and intensely fixed on his own inquisitve gaze. It no longer unnerved him. It was all the answer he needed.

"You were murdered." It was not a question, but a statement. Saying it out loud made the fact all the more real and grueling, an awful ache in Grimmjow's gut threatening to tear his insides apart. He didn't know _why_ he was so beset -_ terrible things happened all the time_ - he just was.

Ulquiorra, however, was not flustered in the least by his inference. But even though his reaction nonexistent, there was no masking the deep, lingering pain in those jaded eyes.

"Someone killed you." Again, not a question. "Someone killed you and that's why you can't rest. It's why you have your wings are black. You'll never be free...Never...unless..." Slowly, like the final missing spaces of a nearly finished puzzle, the pieces began to fall into place.

"...unless _I_ help you," concluded Grimmjow, startled by his own comprehension. "Is that...that's what you meant by gaining your freedom, isn't it? Back when we first met in the graveyard?" A million thoughts buzzed around his head at once.

Ulquiorra expected him to catch his murderer or**_-_** or _what?_ How was he going to accomplish such a task? Where the fuck was he even supposed to begin? There was absolutely nothing he knew about the dead boy besides what his muddled mind could recall from a few shared classes_**-**_

His thought trail is left unhinged when a pale, shockingly strong, hand clasps his arm, while stunned sapphires widen. Ulquiorra is directly in front of him now, that fierce gaze a cross between impressed and grim.

"I said I couldn't tell you." Grimmjow wants to point out that Ulquiorra really hadn't _said_ anything, it was _he_ who had done all the inferring. "But, I can show you."

"Show me? Wha-?" Before the words could even slip past his mouth, his vision was engulfed in darkness, and the world around him was no longer his own.

_The darkness lifted, to reveal a place he did not know. A man loomed intimidatingly. A woman stood in the defensive stance by the wall, screaming at him, trying to block his view of smaller boy hiding behind her. He _knew_ who the little boy was. _

_"Stay back, Muramasa!" Sun-Sun cried, holding her beloved child protectively behind her. Ulquiorra cowered there, safe with her yet oh so afraid._

_"Che." Muramasa merely sneered before brutally slapping his wife across the face. Sun-Sun made a startled sound at the impact but managed to remain upright and defensive._

_Muramasa released a noise akin to a sigh. "Must you defy me, woman? You set such a bad example for our son."_

_Sun-Sun scowled and lunged for her spouse in a bout of rebellion. Usually she managed to construe a pretty decent attack. But tonight her target was extra alert, the poison of alcohol not slowing his system. Tonight he was sober and as cynical as ever._

_He caught her by the wrist and she froze, breathing deep as he leaned down to hiss in her ear. "Big mistake," he whispered._

_She inwardly braced herself for what came next. The metallic taste in her mouth was nothing new, nor was the sharp thrust of pain in her back as the punch knocked her flat into the wall. Her head pulsated with each breath she took, her disorientation palpable after such a severe bashing._

_Sun-Sun waited for the next hit to come, half of her tauntng him to give her his best shot and half of her wishing he would just stop and leave her alone. The rest of her simply prayed to God that Ulquiorra remained untouched. Watching this was traumitizing enough._

_Her precious, fragile little boy._

_However, the thrashing never came. Sun-Sun took a chance and cracked open her eyes. What she saw made her resolute glare of contempt dwindle into startled confusion._

_"Ulquiorra..?" Sun-Sun gasped as her son stood in front of her._

_No longer was her young son curled in on himself and hiding from his abusive father like he should. Instead, he was defending his dear mother much like she always had for him, their roles reversed._

_Her husband seemed to find the uncanny act of courage amusing. Here he thought he had a weak child. "What do you think you're doing, boy?"_

_Ulquiorra didn't move. His eyes narrowed, a hatred in them so immense for a life so premature._

_"Only trash would inflict such pain upon their family," spat Ulquiorra, stunning everyone in the room._

_Muramasa was infuriated. There was nothing he detested more than being defied or insulted._

_He slapped him. Harshly. The sound of it was fierce and haunting. But instead of crumpling like he usually did, the boy just twisted his head back around so he could properly glare at his father._

_Muramasa was mildly impressed._

_So he hit him again. And again. And again. Each slap became louder and more powerful with each strike. Every damn time the boy would simply turn back to him. Those green eyes glaring at him so hideously. Muramasa was becoming more and more frustrated. Sun-Sun was growing more and more fearful._

_"Please! STOP!" She cried tearfully, when in a rage, her husband picked up her boy by the collar and threw him roughly to the ground. She reached out to hug him and protect him as she always did from her ruthless husband's blows._

_But instead, her son brushed her consolation away gently. Sun-Sun watched in awe, whispering his name, as her boy swayed back onto his feet and stood determined against his father._

_Muramasa shook in anger and disbelief. The child wasn't even flinching anymore. What kind of bullshit was this? And then that defiant child once again gazed at him with that atrocious look on his face and Muramasa felt something he hadn't in a long time. Disturbed._

_"W-what are you, boy...?"_

_Ulquiorra blinked blankly. His face was as unreadable as a mask. His eyes were jaded nothing. Slowly, his hand rose and his thumb gingerly swept across the edge of his lip, cleaning away some of the blood here._

_"Me?" He asked, his voice no longer that of an ordinary little boy. Abused. He was..._

_"I'm your son."_

Sapphire eyes snapped open. In a rush of awakened frenzy, Grimmjow shot up in bed, his pulse sky-rocketing. Half of him expected to be in that cheap, ratty apartment with Ulquiorra's father ready to smack him into the wall.

All he saw were the familiar walls of his own home.

_Home?_

But, how? The last thing he remembered was standing in the middle of some abandoned street. Then he woke up here. Everything in between was blank and obscured. Ulquiorra had just grabbed his arm, and then**_-_**?

_"I said I couldn't tell you. But, I can show you."_

Is this what he meant? Had Ulquiorra...when he grabbed him like that, had he really...?

There was no denying the evidence. What he just saw was no mere nightmare. What he just saw was a glimpse of Ulquiorra's memory. The life he had before he died.

And Grimmjow can't say he was pleased with what he saw. A cold fury erupted in him, wanting to kick off his covers and rip that Muramasa apart, one limb at a time. He had a high tolerance for the filth, but if there was one thing he could not condone, it was child abuse. Any bastard who would do such a thing to his own child was beyond redemption and deserved nothing better than death.

Grimmjow sighed, finding his thoughts inevitably drifting towards the child in question. The child in that memory had not been Ulquiorra, at least, not the one he was now. That child had been scared and hurting, but had stood up to his father in the end. He was determined not to be broken. So, in the end, what had taken that determination away in the time between then and now?

He found himself suddenly aching to find out.

The only thing that lulled him to sleep, was the knowledge his new memories providing him, assuring that the bastard father was already dead.

* * *

><p>"Jaegerjaquez," drawled Urahara-sensei, the next day in class. Grimmjow prepared himself for the worst. "A+."<p>

Grimmjow blinked dumbly, with a stunned, "Really?"

The teacher smirked and nodded.

"Your detailed description of the monster, Hollow Man, as you referred to him, was absolutely chilling," praised Urahara. "And the fear felt by the main character was real and superb. Strange, I never pegged you as a master of horror. Nonetheless, excellent work."

"Thanks, Sensei," he said dully. There were much bigger things plaguing his mind to get too excited. He should have been ecstatic, and he was happy, but considering the story was based off real events that had him scared shitless the day before, his enthusiasm was limited.

The bell eventually rang and Grimmjow exited in his usual manner, with a curt wave towards the teacher on his way out. Surprisingly, who does he find waiting outside the school for him, but fellow classmate Kurosaki Ichigo.

"Hey." Kurosaki inclined his head.

"Hey."

Well, this was lame.

"I heard you were asking around about Cifer Ulquiorra..." said an awkward Kurosaki, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Nel has a big mouth," he muttered, knowing exactly who had told the other student. "And so what if I am?"

Who the hell cared if he was wondering about Ulquiorra? People could talk all they wanted, but Grimmjow would still give a rat's ass. None of them mattered as much as Ulqui-

As much as finding answers did, he quickly corrects himself.

"Oh." If he was taken aback by his scathing retort, he didn't show it. If anything, he still looked uncomfortable. "Are you like...legit?"

"Yeah." Grimmjow affirmed, eyes narrowed. "Why the hell do you care?"

One again, Kurosaki looks slightly unsure.

"I know...I know someone who knew Ulquiorra better than anyone. If you wanted to know more about him...she'd be the one to ask."

"You're serious?" Kurosaki nodded. "Well...yeah. I would...appreciate that." Gratitude sounded weird on his tongue. "Thanks, man."

"No problem," he replied breezily. Then brown eyes were suddenly glaring at him with ferocity. "But you better be good to her, and don't you dare give her any trouble or I swear, I'll bash your blue head in!"

Catching the note of threat underlining his tone, Grimmjow grinned. "Aw...who is this girl, Kurosaki? You're girlfriend?"

Kurosaki lit up like a Christmas tree, his cheeks as red as his hair. "None of your damn business," he mumbled under his breath, but it was all the answer Grimmjow needed.

"Okay, fine. I promise not to upset your little girlfriend. Where's she lived?" Red and still boiling with indignation, Kurosaki gave him the address and Grimmjow thanked him shortly, heading off in the opposite direction. His first stop in his quest for answers. And he doubted it would be the last.

Inoue Orihime.

* * *

><p>Yes, I think IchiHime is adorable. So sue meXD<p>

More back-round story in this, which I am loving. And what's this? The plot is finally developing!

I had to finish this now, since I'm going to Virginia for the weekend and will be deprived of Internet access the entire time. *sad face* Ah, well. Hopefully I can get a nice tan. Anyway, when I return, I will be able to post the next chapter. So come on, use the button down below and show me how much you care(;


	6. Burning Reminiscence

Just wanted to say thanks to all who reviewed so far: **Msche, Kiku90, Maru de Kusanagi, Nokia5233, luckless-is-me, Snow Flake Falling From Sky, mslunarissa, TheRandomGirlInTheCorner, Phoenix Redwing, AlteaAuroraRia, Taluhtah, my black crimson rose. **You are all amazing and I love your kind words. Keep 'em coming!(:

**_xXxXxXxXxXxXx_**

_And their tears are filling up their glasses_

_No expression, no expression_

_Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow_

_No tomorrow, no tomorrow_

_-Michael Andrews & Gary Jules, Mad World_

* * *

><p>She has a pretty face, more so than he remembers. Probably because her hair has grown out since the last time he saw her. She looks older now, somewhat more matured.<p>

"Hello!" chirps a familiar voice. Cheerfully, she added, "Er...who are you?"

Well, maybe not that much more mature.

"Uh...Grimmjow? We, uh, we used to have some classes together...from school, you know?" _Once again,_ _lame,_ he scolded, scratching his cheek sheepishly.

The girl simply blinked. When the wires finally connected, she seemed surprised, "Oh! Yes, Grimmjow! I remember now! Um..." She fidgeted. "...not to be rude, but why are you here?"

_Good question. _

"Would you mind...I mean..." _Oh, screw it!_ "...Can I talk to you about something?"

"Something?" she repeated.

"Well, more so, _someone_," Grimmjow clarified. "Did you know a Cifer Ulquiorra?"

Grey eyes darken. An appalled look smothered her innocent features, before she gently composed herself. Like recovering from a sharp note in a symphony.

"Oh..." _Maybe I phrased that wrong. Would she turn me away now? Fuck, have I messed up-?_

Then the door was opened wide, and the Orihime girl was welcoming him in with a kind, albeit strained, smile.

* * *

><p>"I hope you like this brand of tea," she said as she entered from the kitchen, balancing a trey of two cups in her arms.<p>

"S'fine," he assured, though not too keen on drinking tea.

She nodded and took a deep breath, but it came out as a sigh. A forced grin broke out on her face. "I never thought I'd see the day someone came asking about Ulquiorra..." Orihime attempted a laugh, but it was mediocre at best and died off quickly.

They stared at their drinks in awkward silence.

It didn't take long for him to piece it together from what he knew and the bits he remembered. "You were his best friend..."

_Maybe his only real one._

She nodded with a solemn spring in her chin. "Yes. We met in the foster care home I went to after my brother died. I suppose we connected because of our similar losses."

That window of information caught his attention. "Ulquiorra was in foster care?"

Orihime nodded, taking a long sip of her warm cup. "His mom died. It was a horrible accident. And his father had perished not years beforehand."

An odd smile slipped out. "Our friendship was based upon death. Isn't that funny?"

"Yeah..." _Funny, creepy, sad, strange; yeah, all the same thing I guess._

"I know about his father," he told her, much to the female's shock. He waited for her to demand to know how he knew, but when the surprise ebbed away, she only looked saddened.

"Ulquiorra's father was an abusive man. He beat his mom and Ulquiorra. It made him cold. It made him tough. It made him resilient. And you may recall him to be detached, but I will tell you, you should have heard him laugh when he told me his father was dead. He laughed like the boy he was."

Grimmjow raised a skeptical brow. "...and you accepted this? You thought that him laughing at his old man's death was...okay?"

Orihime shrugged, fiddling with her glass now, unwilling to meet his stare. "No, I guess not. My own parents were abusive, you see, it's why my brother raised me. Like I said, I guess I just sympathized."

A familiar sense of pity welled in his gut, so he did not press the subject. No need to make her relive those demons.

_Strange,_ his mind supplied, bemused. _Since when did I start caring for those around me?_

Not that Grimmjow was. Ridiculous.

"I think it was the manner of which he died that truly amused him," speculated Orihime.

"How did he die?"

"He was beaten to death by a mugger outside his usual bar. Fitting, I guess." Dry was the remark, but the wry smile curled around her face was just as well. Grimmjow himself felt the tell-tale signs of satisfaction streaming through his own bloodstream.

"Definitely," he agreed, until another nagging notion invaded his conscience. "What about his mom?"

Gray eyes narrowed intensely at him.

"Curious, aren't we, Grimmjow?"

He was taken aback by the fierce attitude change. In all that he knew about this Inoue girl, he could never remember her getting angry.

But the look she was sending him right now was downright heated.

"What are you implying?"

"If this is some kind of prank or sick joke for your own amusement...if you just want to know stuff to use it against him...w-well you can just quit it and leave!"

_"What?"_

"Ulquiorra was my friend!"

"I know!" He shot back, before she could spew anymore accusations at him. "That's why I'm here! I don't want to harm Ulquiorra anymore! I just want to know more about him!"

The fists clenched at her sides loosened. There must have been some convincing honesty in his voice because her anger instantly deflated and melted into guilt.

"I'm sorry," she apologized softly, "I just_**-**_"

"No, it's fine," he interrupted, meaning it. It actually pleased him to see her so protective over her old friend. "Just...tell me what happened."

"It's haunting just to remember," Orihime shuddered, a somber tenderness in her eyes.

"Please."

"They were at home," she described quietly. "While he was sleeping, the smell of smoke awoke him in the dead of night. He heard awful noises all around him and hid in a cupboard. That's when he saw his mother, screaming for him, running, her body scorching with flames."

She shudders. Grimmjow follows suit, more horrified than his liking. What a sight to behold...your own mother burst into flames...the sheer imagery is plain terrifying.

"He said...Oh gosh, it must have been so horrible," she gushed, flinching in aghast. "...h-he said it was like being in Hell...To him, I think he truly _thought_ he had been there."

_"I've seen the true face of Hell."_

_"And?"_

_"And it was hot."_

He almost feels guilty for laughing now. Almost.

He hadn't known he had been serious at the time.

"That's terrible..." Grimmjow whispers aloud. Orihime sullenly agrees.

"I don't know what you are seeking, Grimmjow," she interpreted evenly, "But I don't sense any ill-will from you. If you truly want to know what happened to Ulquiorra after we lost touch, I know who your next stop should be."

"Really?" He was astonished at being offered another piece of the puzzle, but grateful all the same. "Thanks."

"Of course," Orihime reacted pleasantly, revealing the kind dimples of her smile. "Anything for Ulquiorra's friend, right?"

_Friend?_ Such a foreign term for his guardian.

* * *

><p>When Grimmjow leaves, Orihime is left to deal with the aftermath. She sits silently as all those memories flood back in a searing reminiscence.<p>

_She had been nine-years-old. Her brother had perished barely a year ago and she still felt lonely from time-to-time. Even surrounded by the many other homeless children while she awaited to be placed in a foster home._

_Most were friendly enough, besides a few bullies who would taunt her for her hair. She resents this more than anything. Her brother loved her hair. It would be a disgrace to him to even think of ruining it!_

_And then one day she overhears aforementioned bullies discussing the new boy. She had seen them go over and tease him once or twice, but without avail. The boy had not shown any reaction to their foul words. In fact, he showed no reaction to anything._

_Rumors spread like wildfire in group homes like these. He was 'weird' they said. Mute. Detached. Cold. Frightening._

_Orihime finds that simply preposterous._

_One day, the bullies approached her again. They made fun of her hair and called her names, which she tried her hardest to ignore. Then one of the boys grabbed her by the arm and said if she gave him a kiss and promised to be his girlfriend, they wouldn't tease her anymore._

_Her response? She spat in his face and vehemently refused. This enraged him, but the humiliated boy didn't show it. instead, he smirked maliciously when another boy pulled out a threatening pair of scissors._

_Orihime had just began to fear for herself when the most unbelievable savior arrived; the new boy. She watched in shock as the smaller effortlessly took down the herd of bulkier kids without so much as a word. He even managed to draw blood._

_When he was done, he slowly turned and stared at her, as if wondering why she was still there. She was about to thank him for helping her when..._

_"Are you afraid of me?" he asked simply._

_Orihime blinked. She had scarcely heard the boy speak before now. And he just asks her this out of nowhere? What a strange boy._

_She remembers liking that about him immediately._

_"No," she replied truthfully. What reason did she have to be scared? He had not harmed her, teased her, or been cruel to her in any way. Why should she fear him?_

_Satisfied, though slightly surprised, the boy nodded. "I'm Cifer Ulquiorra."_

_Orihime beamed at him. "Pleased to meet you, Ulqui-chan."_

_What a nice day it had been, _she reflects sadly, knowing nor she or her friend would have another like it. _Such a nice day..._

* * *

><p>As expected, Grimmjow found himself unable to rest when he arrived home after a long day of sleuthing. His meeting with Orihime had been a prosperous one; but after hearing what she revealed, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.<p>

Learning of Ulquiorra's past only summoned more thoughts of his own family. He could already feel the memories stirring anxiously in his cranium, waiting to be recollected. And he had no choice but to oblige.

He remembers the day his dad had brought his baby sister home.

_**Bang. Bang. Thump. Thump.**_

_"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming! Hold on!" The incessant knocking on the door was horribly loud. Reaching for the knob, he swung it open, ready to go balistic on the annoying twit when-_

_It was Dad. Soaked in blood, broad figure filling the doorframe with his impressive bulk and an even more impressive stench. Grimmjow made a face at the smell, but quickly became confused when he noticed the item perched in his dad's arm._

_Well, not so much an item as an 'it.' A baby to be exact. A freaking baby, and whoa, was that pink hair-?_

_Before he could even ask, the baby squealed. A ridiculously high-pitched sound that assured him of it's female status. Upon seeing him, the infant had reached her chubby fists out beseechingly, and Dad obliged, pushing her closer to Grimmjow._

_The tot proceeded to reach for his face, brushing her tiny fingers across his cheek. She giggled at his odd facial expression, curling back into his father's arms. Stunned, he wiped his fingers across his cheek only to have them come back wet. When he saw them, they were red._

_"Moooom!" He finally yelled._

His mother, like him, had not been all too surprised by his dad coming back all bloodied and disheveled. He was a hitman for christ's sake; it was implied in the job description!

However, the baby had been a new take-home accessory neither of them had been expecting.

_"Oh, my." His mother kept repeating, holding the bundle of girl and blood as the baby cooed obliviously. "Oh, my. Really, Kenpachi, of all the things..."_

_"So I shoulda let her there with the remainder of blood and gore?" His old man had grunted, lazily observing the scene while wrapping a bandage around his wrist._

_"No," admitted Mom, wiping the toddler clean of all the mess. I was amazed. It really was pink hair! "But still, a little common sense goes a long way..."_

Whatever the case was, Mom was a saint, unwilling to even think of turning the little girl away now. One hour of caring for the baby and she was hooked. Little runt had become family overnight.

_"Yachiru," Dad had told us while I was watching Mom feed her. "That's her name."_

_"Well, at least you can think of a proper name," Mom had quipped, but smiled warmly as she said it._

The fact that Dad had taken an interest in the child was a feat in itself. Perhaps it was the fact that the child seemed as bold and spirited as his psychopathic father was.

She could beat up all the boys. She could play ball as well as any kid. Hell, the little ball of crazy had even grown on Grimmjow. He thinks he loved the brat.

She was family, of that there was no doubt. Only she never called him 'brother' or 'Nii-chan.' And Mom was never 'Mommy' nor was Dad ever 'Daddy.' It was always 'Braidy-chan' and 'Ken-chan' respectively. And he was 'Grimmy.'

He wondered if maybe it was because she had a real family out there somewhere, but that was stupid. She would have been too young to remember any of that. Besides, we were as real a family as she ever had. That much was certain.

And so, life went on quite happily for a while. Kurosaki, Ikkaku and Yumichika would come over to play after school sometimes. Kurosaki, Ikkaku and him would play guns...Yumichika would play dolls with his sister. Hm.

Dad would engage him and Yachiru in stories, falling asleep in a lump with an open beer in his hand before he could ever finish the end, and Mom would tuck them in at night, with a fondness he couldn't explain.

Unohana had been an exceedingly caring and merciful woman. Say what you may, but yes, he loved his mother dearly. Her death had stung him in ways he had never thought possible.

And his father, he knows, being the demented man he was, felt a degree of love for his wife. Her death must have hurt him in some way as well. Even young Yahciru had seemed to feel the burn.

_Damn cancer. Damn it to fucking hell._

Perhaps that is why Dad had chosen to leave town with Yachiru in tow. To his immense surprise, the old mad had actually offered to have him to go with them. One last chance to be a whole family again.

It was in vain, Grimmjow knew. They would never be a real family again without Mom.

So he refused, and witnessed them disappear off the face of the earth. Social services took it from there, finding his estranged relatives to pay the bills for him until he was eighteen and could legally take care of himself.

Life went on, though nowhere near as happily. He got by. Nnoitra and Nel would come over to play video games. Or Nnoitra would have him come drinking with him and Starrk. He'd box at the gym occasionally with Tatsuki. He saw less of Kurosaki and more of his textbooks.

Until recently, he had always found time for his childhood friend Rangiku, who would be happy to spend all night with him in a drunken stupor, recalling retarded situations they had gotten each other in. She was the one who would come over after his mother's death with a warm meal and a promise of company to get him through the toughest lonely nights.

"Feeling sentimental, are we?" Grimmjow's eyes snapped open.

"Go away, Ulqui," he ordered gruffly, too tired to pronounce his name fully.

"Fine," Uquiorra complied. "Have it your way, _Grimmy_."

Grimmjow's eyes whipped open again as he glared at the angel in shock. "What did you just call me?"

"What are you talking about?" Ulquiorra countered monotonously. "I'm just going away, as you were so keen to suggest."

"Don't play dumb!" Grimmjow yelled in return, grasping the angel's elbow. The frost there was chilling, but he told himself to forget about it. "How did you know my sister used to call me that?"

Green eyes floated like identical jewels in a sea of black and white that made up his countenance. Grimmjow realizes how close he is to make that sort of observance, but despite this, he cannot force himself to let go.

_Damn it._ Up close, Ulquiorra's eyes were like shimmering pools of emeralds. It was as if they were glowing. Radioactive; like poison. Yeah, definitely poison. Better turn away before it consumed him**_-_**

Grimmjow couldn't. Wouldn't. Didn't.

"I just do," was the angel's reply, simple and apathetic. "I thought we were over this by now. I know things, you accept that. It freaks you out, but you live with it. Though when it comes to personal matters, like your sister or mother or father, I suppose it bothers you more?"

"Uh..." Was this...an apology? "Very much so."

"Ah." And that was all he said on the subject. "My condolences then. I had no intention of mentioning your family to get under your skin."

_Bullshit._

And yet...

Sighing, he said, "No...it's okay. Whatever. Just caught me off guard there. No more nicknames," he warned lowly.

"So be it," Ulquiorra responded crisply. Grimmjow figured that was about as close to an agreement he was going to get and inwardly deflated.

After a few idle moments, a crystal voice drone, "Grimmjow?"

"Hn?"

"Is there a reason you're still latched onto my arm?"

"What?" _Oh._ "Yes. I mean**_-_** no! Obviously, no. I just...forgot." He sputtered, quickly retracting his hand, albeit reluctantly.

His touch was freezing, yet addicting.

He knows that if given the chance, he would brush his palm against that porcelain skin over and over again. Angel soft skin, but it was so calloused, if that made sense. Like he was worn, but in a perfect way. Did that make sense?

Probably not.

Don't ask why. Grimmjow doesn't have a fucking clue; all he has is the yearn, the inexplicable urge to feel the biting cold of that skin against his. Who knew _death_ could be such an appeal?

_Wait._

Appeal? Ulquiorra? No, he preferred to keep those two thought trains on the furthest apart tracks he can.

It takes him a moment to realize said person is speaking again, "_**-**_your mind was straying towards Rangiku too, wasn't it?" A pause. "She left behind a little boy, didn't she?"

He grunted in affirmative, "What about him?"

"He's her only living family, isn't he?"

Grimmjow grudgingly confirmed this.

"Yet you don't visit him. Why is that?"

Grimmjow is thrown off guard. Gnawing on his lip, the _None of your business_ melts in his mouth. He decides to stay silent.

"He's with his father now, isn't he?"

He nods. "Rangiku's ex has full custody of the kid. Rangiku would always get him on the weekends. Shuuhei's his name. Never really knew the guy too well. It'd just be...awkward."

A slim eyebrow rose. "Awkward or painful?"

Grimmjow scoffed, neither dismissing nor confirming either. "Let's just say I'm not the best rolemodel for a kid."

"That didn't stop Shuuhei. He said you were welcome anytime."

"Only because he knew me and Ran were tight," he snorted.

"So?"

"So?" Grimmjow crossed his arms in irritation. "So, what do you want from me?" Ulquiorra had the decency to appear thoughtful.

"I imagine it must be painful to lose one's mother so young. How old were you?"

"...Fourteen." _But you already knew that, didn't you?_

"That's young. But six is even worse, I'd say. Sounds like he could use all the friends he can get."

_How old were you when you lost _your_ mom?_

"What are you? My fucking conscience now?" snarled Grimmjow.

Ulquiorra blinked. "Not at all." Deceptive innocence adjusted well on his face. "Just a curious being."

* * *

><p>More plot development. Congrats to TheRandomGirlInTheCorner who guessed right. Grimmjow is Kenpachi and Unohana's son! And cute little Yachiru in there was a needed necessity.<p>

Hope you enjoyed. Please, please, please review!


	7. Youth in Gloom

_A cloud hangs over_

_And mutes my happiness_

_A thousand ships couldn't sail me back from distress_

_Wish you were here_

_I'm a wounded satellite_

_-Incubus, Anna Molly_

* * *

><p><em>The flames protruding from the building rose and rose, undeterred in their pursuit to destroy everything wholesome and good. The fire was unforgiving in it's relentless devastation.<em>

_Ashes fell from the sky like snow. Ulquiorra caught some in his open palm. The last remnants of his home and his mother swept away by the wind. He cradled the black dust close and tried to gain some comfort from it's warmth._

_He used to resent their dingy apartment and the minimal value it held. Now he craved the welcoming aura it provided and all the memories held encased within those walls._

_His mother had fallen with it. Her skin scalding **-** _burning_ away _**-**_ while the rest of their life lay destroyed. Ulquiorra was still unsure how he himself survived. All he remembered was the smell of smoke and the heat of the flames distorting his senses. Frightened, he ran out of bed and hid in the kitchen cupboard, waiting for his mother to come find him an protect him like always._

_He had found her later, of course, though not in the way he had hoped. She had been running, trying to escape the fire in her veins, the death raging inside her own body. _

_He had jumped out from his hiding spot to go after her, exposing himself to the brutal heat. He screamed for her, tears evaporating off his face. _When he heard no reply, his chest clenched painfully at the loss. Or perhaps asphyxiation by way of fumes.__

_Nevertheless, somehow, by some miracle of sorts, he had been grabbed by an unknown pair of arms and whisked away to the cleansing night air._

_He had coughed and coughed and now, safely unattached to his oxygen mask, watched his life crumble into ruins. There was no reprieve to the constriction of his chest, meaning grief was the cause of the ache, not suffocation. Everything had seemed so hopeless when..._

_"Nii-chan!" The small cry snapped him out of his fiery gaze. He tore himself away from ambulance and whirled around to see the last source of his salvation held within a fireman's capable arms. His last hope._

_"Tobiume!"_

_His little sister._

Grimmjow abruptly awoke, his body in a cold sweat. His hair was mangled in damp clumps from all his thrashing and the pillow beneath him was moist and tepid. The smell of misery and sorrow lingered in the room, as if the nightmare had somehow materialized itself.

Rubbing a hand down his soaked brow, Grimmjow recovered enough to think one lucid thought:

Ulquiorra...had a sister?

It seemed too impossible to fathom. Even though it was true. Grimmjow frowned, dismayed by this new bit of information. What bothered him was that when that Inoue girl told him what she knew, she never mentioned his sister.

Now, either she could have intentionally hid it from him, _or_ she was unaware. And Orihime just did not seem the type to lie about something like that. Which meant that not even she **_-_** Ulquiorra's most _trusted_ friend **_-_** had known of his little sister's existence.

Only Grimmjow had been given that personal piece of information.

His best kept secret.

But, why? Why only him?

A more pressing question, he thinks a beat later.

If Ulquiorra had a little sister who survived the fire, where was she now?

* * *

><p>Later that day, the trauma of his nightmare not forgotten, he finds himself surrounded by the scent of warm tea and fingerpaints.<p>

Orihime's tip turned out to be the foster care her and Ulquiorra were sent to after they left the group home. Grimmjow also knew their foster father **_-_** Ukitake Juushiro **_-_** as a teacher who taught History at the university.

"Thank you for having me, Ukitake-sensei," he greets politely. His teacher smiles back.

"It's no trouble at all. Now, what is it you would like to discuss?" Before Grimmjow can speak up, however, footsteps raging towards them cut him off**_-_**

"Dad! Dad!" A chorus of identical voices barreled in as two little boys came crashing through the doorway. The boys are exactly alike from their white hair to their wide, green eyes.

While Grimmjow finds himself a tad annoyed by the interruption, Ukitake only smiles kindly and chuckles as the pair bounds into the room.

"Dad, Katen-chan is hogging the remote!" One of the boys cried indignantly. To the left, his brother nodded vehemently. "And tore the heads off our toys!"

Grimmjow winced. Oh, how he missed the days of childhood...those violent, violent days...

"Now, now," Ukitake chastised lightly. "Sogyo, Kotowari; we have a guest." The boys noticed him and waved before returning their attention to their surrogate father. "Go tell Katen-chan not to be so brutal in the future. And did you try asking her nicely, rather than just concocting sly plots to steal the devise?"

"No," the boys said in unison. A shared blink. "Oh."

Grimmjow twitched. Ukitake just laughed and sent them on their merry way.

"Geez, Ukitake-sensei, you have more patience than me," he admitted, when the kids were out of earshot. "If it were me, I would go nuts with all these kids running around."

His teacher simply shrugged and smiled. "Ah, well, they can be a handful. But I love children and find their presence very uplifting."

"If you don't mind me asking, sir." When Ukitake gave a nod, he continued, "Is there a reason you decided to open your house to so many brats?"

Sensei seems to consider this.

"Well, as I said, being a parent is very fulfilling if you are up to the task. It is good to give orphaned children another option in life. And since I was unable to have any children of my own...this was the best alternative."

Grimmjow could agree with that and felt a deal of respect rise in him at the man's selfless attitude. But the last part made him wonder. "...you aren't, sir?"

"I was born with a chronic disease that leaves my lungs very weak and have a tendency to cough up blood. It is why I am absent for long periods on occasion." He shrugs. "It is not so much my inability to have children, so much as my unwillingness to risk passing on the disease."

"I'm sorry," he apologizes sincerely, "I didn't mean to bring it up."

"No, no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to burden you with it. After so long, you learn to take everything in stride. You know?"

With angels and murders and hollows clouding his forecast lately, Grimmjow knows _exactly_ what he means.

Ukitake eventually breaks the awkward pause, and asks, "Tell me Grimmjow, is it true that you are here to ask me about one of my past children?"

"Yes." He nods

"Orihime-chan did not specify who," Ukitake states, "but she said it was very important to you. So who is it you are so desperately in pursuit of?"

"Cifer Ulquiorra."

There is a pause. A slight tremble in the white-haired man's pose.

"Ah," Ukitake says slowly, setting his cup back on the table. "Cifer Ulquiorra...I see. What is it you would like to know exactly?"

"I know about his family already," Grimmjow recites, "from Orihime." He fails to mention how he has also seen it with his own eyes in haunting dreams that leave him breathless and sweating each night. "I want to know what happened after they were separated."

"I see..." His sensei repeats. "Cifer Ulquiorra and Inoue Orihime came here together under my care around the age of nine. Inoue Orihime stayed here until she was old enough to graduate and live on her own. She visits me often, so I know how well she is doing."

Orihime had been right when she said they had a good home. This didn't seem like such a bad place; compared to other foster families that he knows exist, it looks like a miracle.

"And Ulquiorra?" he pressed.

Ukitake-sensei averts his eyes, as if remembering something, then closes them and exhales.

"I regret to say that when Ulquiorra was fifteen, the city handed over his guardianship to Aizen Sosuke." As these words were spoken, Grimmjow feebly attempted to process what he had just heard.

"...Aizen...?" How could he never have known..? "Aizen: the wealthy, powerful, handsome, business guy who is in the paper a lot and can make even the coldest of women swoon?"

"He goes by many names, I suppose," was the bland reply. "But, yes."

"So...so what happened?" Grimmjow stuttered, trying to get a hold of himself. "Didn't you keep in touch with him?"

It was obvious the guy was attached to his charges. Especially after explaining all that. Orihime had been with the man less than half her years and considered him family.

Why was Ulquiorra different?

"I wish I could say I have," Ukitake confessed sadly. "However, communication was impossible while he was in Aizen's care. And on the rare occasions I was able to spot the boy it was very brief."

Nodding, Grimmjow closed his eyes, searching for the memory of this time. "...Hey, wait..." He latched onto something. "...Ulquiorra had stopped going to school then, hadn't he?"

"Indeed," the white-haired man muttered. "Aizen pulled him out of school and gave him a personal tutor. To better further his studies I suppose, yes. As if the boy wasn't anti-social enough..."

Grimmjow was startled by the clear amount of disdain there was in the usually kind teacher's tone. "You...disagree with Aizen's parenting methods, sir?"

"Parenting?" His sensei scoffed. "Ha! Oh, no. No, if anything, taking in tragic children like Ulquiorra was more for the publicity than anything...Honestly, I think he was deliberately trying to isolate the boy."

"Why would he do that?" demanded Grimmjow, more curious than anything.

"How should I know?" Ukitake-sensei sighed. "Oh, it's only a theory. Hardly something any social worker would even begin to consider."

Grimmjow was beginning to realize the big picture here.

"You...you don't trust Aizen much, do you Ukitake-sensei?" he asked carefully.

"Heaven forbid," snorted the older man, an uncharacteristic display for him. "Aizen used to teach some calligraphy classes as a sign of good will at the university. He was charming, popular, and courteous above all. As an associate, we got along fine. But being an associate, if you look hard enough, you will notice a lot of uneasy things, especially if you have the right sources."

Grimmjow frowned. "What do you mean exactly, Ukitake-sensei?"

Ukitake's eyelids slit in blatant despise. "Aizen is a crooked man. Diabolical. Despicable. I didn't trust him, not one bit."

Grimmjow blinked incomprehensively. "Then...why'd you let him have one of your charges?"

"I didn't want to," Ukitake sighed, visibly troubled. "You have to understand. Money is power and power goes a long way. Add in a wide influence along with natural charisma and you have a very dangerous force to be reckoned with."

"And that's it?" Grimmjow was dismayed to find his tone almost accusing.

"That's all I could do." Ukitake shrugged helplessly. "Social services came and took him and there was no proof to any of my claims. Revealing anything I suspected would be slander, and the remainder of my children could have been taken. I couldn't allow that."

"So, what, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few? Now who sounds distrusting?" This time, he felt no guilt at flinging the accusation at the man.

His teacher's face morphed into a stern repirmand. It reminded him of being caught in class after a loud disruption. He didn't want to feel any guilt, but the look the instructor always gave him caused his stomach to sink and his resolve to falter.

'Now, you listen hear," Ukitake began evenly, "I spend a good deal of sleepless nights wondering over the children I've seen lost and even children I've lost myself. There will always be regrets and the ever-present 'what ifs.' It is haunting, truly **_-_** but you know what?"

All he could do was shake his head.

"The dead need to rest. And it is the living who insist on keeping them awake. If we can allow them peace in this world, I can only hope they find it in the next."

"I can't," the blue-haired student whispered dejectedly, sighing softly to himself. "I can't let him go."

Ukitake's eyes narrowed, giving him a half-concerned/half-suspicious stare. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Grimmjow ignored the question and simply gazed at his clenched fists forlornly. "No, sir."

He was lying. He was sure it was obvious. Ukitake-sensei was no fool. Never had been. Plus, he had spent his life teaching adolescents and raising them. He had to be an expert in spotting lies by now.

But, his teacher was apparently willing to let it slide. Grimmjow is grateful; the last thing he needs is another concerned party poking their noses into his investigation. More than that, his situation has just gotten a lot more complicated. The last thing he wanted to do was get this kind and sickly man involved in his mess. Like he said, he had a family of children at risk.

Looks like he was truly growing a conscience after all.

"I just have one more question," said Grimmjow.

"Ask away," Ukitake allowed.

"What ever happened to him?" It was plainly obvious who he was referring to. Who else but the black-winged creature who haunted his dreams and his former caretaker's conscience?

"Didn't you know?" Apparently not. "I guess those extra studies paid off. Aizen got him accepted into a prominent boarding school up north four years ago. I haven't heard from him since."

* * *

><p>Hours after Grimmjow's departure, Ukitake remained troubled, his lamentation inconsolable. He wasn't sure how long he had sat there brooding until the swish of the door announced the arrival of his lover.<p>

"Juu-chan, I'm home," called Shunsui, smiling jovially. He sauntered up to him and nuzzled his neck in greeting, placing a warm kiss at his nape.

"Welcome home," offered Ukitake, half-hearted at best. He could feel his partner frown through his skin.

"Juu-chan?" Shunsui murmured against his neck. "What's wrong?"

Ukitake sighed, thoughts elsewhere. "Nothing."

Lips pressed into his skin, the soothing brush of warm breath nuzzling his neck a welcome gesture.

"I know when you're lying, Juu-chan." Of course he did. They've known each other too long not to. Grey eyes locked on him in concern. "Are you feeling ill?"

"Not so much today," he assured lightly. "I'm sorry, Shunsui. My mind is too occupied right now."

His companion blinked, unlatching himself from the smooth collar bone. "By what?"

Ukitake frowned, thoughts consuming him once more. "The visitor I had today. A young man, a student at the University. He was looking for information on a boy who was once in my care."

"Oh? Who was it?"

"Jaegerjaquez Grimmjow," he answered. "He was asking about Cifer Ulquiorra."

"Hmm. And is that what has you so broody all of a sudden?"

Ukitake nodded, appearing thoughtful. "Ulquiorra was taken from here and put into the care of Aizen four years ago."

Shunsui's eyes widened, immediately noticing the connection. "Ah. Poor child. Is he doing well now?"

"I have no idea. Supposedly, he was accepted into a great school and is studying abroad."

Shunsui frowned. "So that's fortunate, isn't it?" He stared at his long-time friend in concern. "What's the problem?"

Ukitake was clearly bothered by the whole discussion. "Why would man like Aizen want a boy like him?" He shook his head, not even waiting for an answer. "That boy was the walking manifestation of melancholy! His father was abusive and his mother died in that awful fire all those years ago."

Rich guys like Aizen wanted to adopted children to make them look caring and charitable in the eyes of the public. So they took in needy, albeit normal, children. Car crash survivors. Drug babies. Adolescent thugs. Not 'watched-mother-burn-to-death' outcasts. They wanted troubled children, but not difficult children who could not be swayed with money or false affections.

Ulquiorra had definitely been one of those children.

Don't get him wrong. Ukitake came to care for all the kids he took in. Ulquiorra had been broken, isolated, and lost. But if anyone had only gotten to know him a little bit, like Orihime had, maybe they would had seen the truth behind the facade.

No one had though. Now he was gone and it was too late.

He understands why that Grimmjow had looked so oppressed. It was a distressing situation.

"The boy who came to visit," Ukitake speculates, "He wears that same look Ulquiorra always did...this gloomy face that makes you wonder what they're thinking about that could be so terrible."

Before either spoke again, his partner gave him a long, meaningful stare.

"You can't save 'em all, Juu-chan," Shunsui comforted simply. Ukitake nodded, still saddened by this fact. Shunsui hated seeing his lover in such a mood.

Without warning, he pinned him to the floor and clambered overtop of him, grinning slyly as he saw his lover's eyes widen in surprise and then flicker with anticipation. His hand lowered itself into a very provocative position as the man beneath him stifled a moan.

"Let me take your mind off of things for a bit, ne?" He leered suggestively at his captive.

Ukitake weighed his options. He could dwell on these matters for however many more years. There was so much time in the world to brood. However, he and Shunsui had work in the morning.

* * *

><p>Grimmjow, on the other hand, street blocks away, had no such comfort. Telling his friends about any of this would make him feel more insane than ever.<p>

He seriously contemplated going to see Orihime again, just to talk, but figured it would only be adding more burden onto her. Besides, can't let Kurosaki think he was coming onto his woman or some shit.

Lost, alone, and wishing for Ulquiorra more than ever, Grimmjow has never felt more like a child.

Before he even knows what he is doing, his legs are taking him to the last place he ever thought he'd be visiting today. Yet here he is, outside the front door, knocking now as he awaits an answer from the person inside.

The door swings open. A man not much older than himself stands in the entrance. Recognition is immediate.

"Grimmjow," Shuuhei blinked, startled by his sudden appearance. On instinct, Grimmjow forces a somewhat fake smile to his face.

"Sup."

"Uh...hi. I**_-_**I mean**_-_**" The brunette shook his head, washing away the initial shock. "I mean**_-_** God, I'm sorry. I just didn't expect to see you here! Haven't seen you since...you know..."

_Since the funeral._

"Yeah, I know." Grimmjow knew exactly why he was so surprised to see him. He was a bit surprised with himself, honestly. "Mind if I...?"

Shuuhei, the kindly bastard, knew exactly what he meant. Dumb-founded, he opened the door for him to enter. He did so, cautiously.

"Sure, just..." Dark eyes furrowed, struggling to figure him out. "Why now? I thought your mind was made up."

Grimmjow, for all he was worth, could only shrug. "Change of heart..."

Whether it was the earnest in his voice or the shadow of gloom veiled over his face, Shuuhei seemed to accept this answer. He was still confused, but not enough that he was going to deny him what he came for.

Following as his host led the way, Grimmjow remained silent. Shuuhei may have shared a pleasantry or two, but Grimmjow paid him no mind, interjecting an incoherent grunt here and there.

He was fairly distracted. A sickening clench in the pit of his stomach was threatening to tear his composure apart. He was considering regretting this. What if this was a bad idea? What if**_-_**?

"Renji?" Shuuhei called softly, a smile plastered onto his face as soon as the boy came into vision. "You have a visitor."

Renji. Rangiku's son. The last living part of her that dwelled in this world.

As soon as those childlike eyes turned their innocent gaze on him, the clench in his stomach dissipated. It was if a giant weight was just lifted off his shoulders and the dark gloom it caused around him dispersed.

Maybe visiting hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

* * *

><p>Thank you all for the wonderful feedback! Hope I'm doing this story justice!<p>

Yes, I love ShunUki! It's such a great pairing! (And so totally, almost, kind of cannon!)

And yes, Renji is Shuuhei and Rangiku's son. He knocked her up when they were sixteen and they dropped out to support their child. They broke up when he was about three, Rangiku rekindled with Gin whom she always loved, and they mutually decided that Shuuhei would get full custody while she got him on the weekends. Until, of course, her recent death.

Next chapter, MAJOR turning point involved, and graphic flashbacks ahoy. Stay tuned 'till then!


	8. Carnival of Souls

**A/N: **_Warning: chapter will contain death scene, blood/torture, and some triggering factors._

**_XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX_**

_Obsession has begun_

_Possessed by destruction_

_How did I get so low?_

_Believe me no one knows_

_Sometime I can't hold on_

_And no one can help me_

_-Sum 41, Angels With Dirty Faces_

* * *

><p>The boy turned to him and Grimmjow found he was not at all stunned by his exotic appearance. If you had seen the kid you would have thought this odd. His hair was a brilliant crimson, restrained in a pineapple-shaped ponytail, with eyes the strangest mix of ruby and chestnut, appearing as a fiery garnet shade.<p>

The reason he was not surprised was because Rangiku had described him so vividly and so many times before, that he probably could have recognized him in a crowd of hundreds.

Momentarily distracted, Renji paused in his game and glimpsed up at the new arrival. Grimmjow tensed up under the scrutiny. His worries evaporated when after a few seconds the boy dismissed his presence boredly and resumed his play.

Grimmjow had forgotten the joy of children-sized attention spans; they were uncannily short.

Shuuhei laughed at his nervousness, lightly elbowing him in the arm. "Don't take it personally. He loses interest pretty quickly. Just like his mother, eh?"

"Yeah." He agrees softly. _Too much_.

Suddenly interested again, Renji asked, "Daddy, can I have a juice box?"

Shuuhei grinned cordially. "Of course, kiddo."

Those flaming eyes turned pleading. "And for dinner? I want taiyaki from Hachi's shop!"

His father frowned skeptically. "Didn't we just eat out the night before? You're killin' my paycheck, kiddo."

"Pleeeeaaassse!" Renji begged, bottom lip quivering in an exaggerated pout. Grimmjow was trying to stifle a laugh. He had to give the brat props for strategy.

Shuuhei's face remained stern for a few useless seconds, but his attempt was obviously futile. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, mumbling under his breath.

Knowing he had had won, Renji tried not to let his smirk become all too smug.

It was becoming hard for Grimmjow _not _to like the kid.

"Hey!" His thoughts were interrupted by the boy in question, the impish voice asking, "You want something?"

Taken aback, Grimmjow shook his head, indicating he wasn't hungry. The earlier conversation with Ukitake-sensei still had his stomach churning.

"Here's the thing," Shuuhei continued in exasperation. "I'd have to run out quick to get the food before the place closes." His eyes swiveled to Grimmjow. Oh, _hell no_. "Could you watch him?"

"Could...Could I?" he all but sputtered.

"Could you, Grimmjow? It will only take a little bit."

"I...uh...well..." _God, think would you! Say something intelligible!_ "Sure...I mean...yeah, why not?"

_That was so not intelligible!_

"Great. Thanks, I won't be gone long. You be good, Renji, 'kay?"

"Yup!" Renji called back absently.

Grimmjow gave Shuuhei one last fleeting look, his eyes screaming, _Do you really trust me?_

Apparently, Shuuhei was able to read the look, his eyes half-smiling as they read back, _Guess so._

And then he left, leaving Grimmjow alone with the boy.

_God, what the hell am I supposed to do with a kid? _He inwardly freaked. _The whole idea was to come __visit him. But I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Maybe if I'm really still and don't move, he won't notice..._

"Hey!"

_Damn it to all seven layers of Hell._

"What?"

"Is your name Grimmjow?"

"Uh...yeah." Introductions, okay. That was a safe way to start.

Until the kid scrunched up his nose in distaste, whining, "That's too long!"

Grimmjow felt his eyebrow twitch. "Well, maybe your name is just too short."

Then the little snot had the audacity to giggle at him!

"That's silly," the boy amended, as if _he_ were talking to the child. "You make funny faces when your eyebrow twitches like that!"

"Spectacular," he muttered. Why had he come here again? Oh yes, to reconcile.

There was a brief silence, until Renji decided to break it with a cheery, "Soo..you want to play cars, Grimm-chan?"

Grimmjow started at the all-too-familiar nickname. "What?" he breathed, suddenly tense.

"I said: You want to play cars?" Renji tilted his head in confusion. "Something wrong, Grimm-chan?"

_Grimm-chan_...the last time someone called him that...it had been Rangiku. And the way he said it now, it was exactly that way she had before.

God, how could he have not seen the resemblance before?

They may not have looked alike, but there were definitely similarities present. Renji's slyness and manipulation. His playful manner and good-natured fun. All traits inherited from his dearly departed mother.

And surprisingly...knowing this...it _didn't_ hurt. At least, not like he thought it would.

He had kept his distance from the boy because he was afraid. Afraid that being near him would bring back all those memories he kept locked within his heart, for fear of the suffering it would bring.

It was like all the surreal recollections of his mother that he hid away the majority of the time. They were sweet and sentimental. Until the pain settled in.

Now, instead of those unwelcome, grueling emotions, all he felt were the faint wisps of nostalgia that left a pleasant feeling swelling in his gut.

It was as if knowing this child here, so much like her it hurt, lived on, a part of her lived on too. In a way, maybe that was true.

"Grimm-chan!" A startled voice cries out, alerting Grimmjow to the frazzled child still in the room. "Grimm-chan, wake up! Earth to Grimmjow!"

"I'm here," he informs hoarsely, swallowing back the dryness in his throat. The boy sighs in clear relief, apparently worried by his lack of response.

"You got real quiet all of a sudden...and your face got all sappy and sad-looking..." Renji trailed off, biting his lip. "I'm sorry. I thought I did something to make you—"

A wave of guilt washes over him as he realizes his internal freak-out had truly concerned the little boy. Goddamn, he could be such a pitiful bastard sometimes. Selfish, at that. This kid had just lost him mother, and all he cared about was his own inner demons. Imagine how this poor kid was fairing.

"How are you doing, Renji?"

The red-head sighed, as though asked this many times lately. "Fine," was the quick reply, a sullen one at that. "I guess, I mean—what am I supposed to feel?"

Grimmjow frowned and felt something akin to sympathy stir within him. He had asked himself the same somber question when his own mom had perished. It was one that he believed had no answer.

"Sad," the blue-haired man offers, somewhat lamely, shrugging. "It's okay to feel sad, you know."

"I know," Renji nods, picking up one of his cars and fussing with the wheel. "I am sad. I just...I miss my mom. But what am I supposed to do?"

_Well, fuck. _Grimmjow was at a frustrating loss. _What should he do? Hell, I don't even know what to do with myself!_

Still...the boy sounded so freakin' forlorn...He missed the upbeat brat who he had first walked in on. He wondered how to get him back. How was he, a clueless dolt, supposed to bring him back from the depths of grief?

But if there was one thing Grimmjow was learning lately from a certain angel, it was how to deal with grief and despair.

"Your mom..." He struggled to find the most consoling words. "...is in a better place now. It's okay to be sad. It's perfectly okay to miss her. Shit, I miss her, too."

Renji reeled on him in surprised. "You do?"

Grimmjow nodded serenely. "Just remember though; where ever she is, she's alright. She's not suffering. And she is probably watching over you right now." Of that there was no doubt. Rangiku was a protective mama bear. "She wouldn't want you to be sad all the time, now would she?"

Revelation springs to the child's face, a large weight lifting off much-too-young shoulders incapable of handling it alone. Grimmjow was more than willing to share the burden if it meant bringing the smile back to that face.

"Yeah," Renji agrees, a small grin carving out the cherubic dimples in his cheeks. "You're right, Grimm-chan. You're right."

Well, there was a first time for everything. He really hopes Ulquiorra overheard this tiny victory. If so, he'd be smug about it for days.

"Grimm-chan?"

Unwilling to worry the red-head again, Grimmjow immediately replies with a breezy, "Mhmm?"

All earlier evidence of depression and mourning was completely gone. You could hardly tell there had even been a trace of sorrow once lingering in those fiery eyes. Childhood was a perplexing yet inexplicable bliss.

"Wanna play cars, now?" He asks with a heap of hope evident in his voice.

Grimmjow, the black-hearted fool he is, can't gather the courage to refuse.

* * *

><p>After Renji had beaten him without mercy eight times in a row at racing cars, Shuuhei returned home with an armful of taiyaki and juice boxes. He invited Grimmjow to stay for dinner. Renji whole-heartedly agreed, bouncing in delight and pleading for him to make it so.<p>

As touched as he was at the offer, and how much it meant to him to be accepted in their company, he had to refuse. A warm meal sounded heavenly, but Grimmjow had a mission to complete and a vow to uphold.

Besides, he wouldn't want to intrude or impose anymore more than he had. They were content living as they were. No need to ruin that happiness.

So he bid them a find farewell, reluctantly promising to come visit the tike again when he improved his racing skills, and set off towards the public library. Why, you may ask?

Sherlock Holmes he is not, but the archive provided at the local library was free and safe. It was what he needed most right now; privacy and quiet. Besides, of all places, who would suspect _him_ to be there?

As soon as he entered, the elderly woman sitting at the front desk eyed him sharply with a wary look in her eyes. "No trouble-making," she warned, glaring at him from behind her spectacles, "or you'll be out."

"What a warm welcome," he muttered under his breath, making his way towards the computers in the back. Part of him can't blame her for being suspicious. Last time Nnoitra had been here, he managed to start a fire in the Teen Fiction section(and laughed as multiple vampire romances burned to ashes).

Sneaking into sealed adoption files was hacker work he was not cut out for. Instead he opted for a search engine, which he was adept enough to use to it's full extent. There he was able to gather quite the network of information.

All of which surrounded the children placed in the care of Aizen Sosuke.

The first child he took in was a thirteen-year-old girl. Her parents were employees of his, and when they died under tragic circumstances, the public made a big deal out of him taking her in out of the kindness of his heart. Maybe Ukitake had a point about the publicity factor.

This was when Aizen had to be what...in his late thirties, early forties? There was barely anything except her adoption and a few soccer wins in the paper. Then, three years later, she was accepted into the boarding school that Ukitake was talking about.

After that...nothing. Zero. Nada. Zip.

_Interesting,_ wonders Grimmjow. He looks up the next kid who came into the picture two years after her departure. Sixteen-year-old male, delinquent, parents dead, no family. And...same story. They say he went off to study in the states and never came back, much to his parole officer's displeasure.

There was a frightening repetition that became instantly visible to Grimmjow. The more he searched, the more apparent it became that there was something very, _very_ wrong here.

From what he can tell, all the kids are between the ages of eleven and seventeen. None of them have any parents, relatives or constants in their lives. _No one who would notice they were gone._ They stay with Aizen for a few years, give or take. After which they get sent off to whatever school of higher learning and _bam!_ The trail goes empty. No breadcrumbs, no leads. Just _nothing._

It was incredulous! How do all these children just disappear off the face of the earth? It isn't possible. Unless—

He may not be as astute as Holmes, but he is not a complete moron. Even without technical evidence, without bodies, and without any conviction, he now has a very real suspect and some very real conclusions being drawn. And he has only one option to confirm any of this.

"Ulquiorra?" Grimmjow whispered, willing the angelic being to appear.

No answer.

"Okay, I know I tell you to get lost all the time, but this is one of those times when I really need my guardian to randomly show up and scare the shit out of me..."

Still no response.

Grimmjow took a deep breath and released it slow. He was so goddamn tense. He rolled his shoulders once to ease the knots and closed his eyes, bathing the bright room in darkness.

"Alright," he conceded softly, so no one else in the building could hear him 'talking to thin air'. "Just, please, Ulquiorra...I need to know. Just tell me...Is Aizen the one who murdered you?"

Silence.

He growls in frustration, eliciting an irritated _Shh!_ from the librarian. "Why won't you answer me?"

_He can't, remember?_ his mind reminds. _He can't tell you. Only show you._ The realization comes all too late for him to prepare.

The flashback, when it came, never even gave Grimmjow enough time to gasp.

_Pain. Shooting from every crevice of the body, most specifically the lower most of his private areas. It was his most sacred spot being defiled so disgustingly at a torturously cruel pace._

_His tormentor had no regard for the boy beneath him. The evidence of abuse did not lie. Ivory skin was marred with horrendous cuts and bruises, dotted with ugly red splotches. Most were fresh, oozing even now as the trauma continued._

_He was being broken at a pain-stakingly slow pace, his torturer enjoying the way he begged and shuddered and wept for some sort of release. But his death was never-ending, the brutalization extending to not only the depths of his body but the core of his mentality._

_When the sinful act had begun, he had been determined to stay strong and live through it. At some point, he began wishing for a swift demise. Now...now...now he was unsure of what was even left to kill._

_The man reveled in this, taking his time to savor boy's pain; ignoring his cries of dizziness and disorientation. Just kept hitting and hurting and cutting. Tearing him in half. And Ulquiorra kept bleeding and screaming and..._

_And nobody heard._

"—ung man? Sir! Hello, sir?"

Grimmjow awoke with a mute scream, the agony of his nightmare reducing life around him to a series of blurs. When he came to grips with his consciousness, he was panting and gasping for hoarse gulps of air. As if he had been drowning—

_Drowning...dying...choking on his own blood..._

"Sir!" Now he recognized the voice. It was the elderly librarian from the front desk. She looked more concerned now than sharp-eyed. "Boy, are you alright?"

_No..._

"I...I..." He was sweating so fiercely. His entire collar bone down to his chest was damp and radiating heat. Yet everything was so cold—

_Cold...deceased...**dead.**_

Grimmjow felt sick. All color faded from his skin. Fists trembling, he fought the immense urge to throw up.

_No..._

He lost. Wrenching over to the side, the gunk which spewed from his throat brought back disgusting images of of a mess of pink and blood which had frothed from Ulquiorra's own mouth in the flashback—

And he vomited once more for good measure.

"Sir!" The librarian shrieked, leaping back as the gross liquid dripped off his lips as he heaved for more air. "Rin, call an ambulance!"

"No..!" He managed to croak between coughs, eliciting a startled gasp from the old crone. He wiped the vomit from the edges of his mouth and sat back in the chair with an exhausted huff.

The bookkeeper was at his side again, feeling his head. She murmured something like a protest which his ears deafly ignored. He snapped his burning eyes shut and tried to block out the world surrounding him.

"Son?" The librarian called once more, retracting her hand from his head. Grimmjow cracked an eye open towards her, showing that he was responsive. She seemed satisfied with this, and proceeded to ask again: "Are you okay?"

Okay? No...what? After what he had just seen—what he had just experienced—just, just _no._ **_No._** How...how was he ever going to be okay again?

Death was one thing in itself. But what he saw when his eyes closed...what Ulquiorra went through...that was _torture._ That was _violation_...that was...

_Rape._

Grimmjow grit his teeth and hoped the action was only mental so the old crone wouldn't fuss about him again. What a disgusting term. What a disgusting act. The things monsters like Aizen were willing to do in this world—it was sickening.

And Ulquiorra? Hadn't he been through enough? It wasn't bad enough that his dad had beat the shit out of him, his mom burned before his very eyes, and that his sister was lost to him forever?

No one deserved that. No one. Especially not Ulquiorra.

_Was _he okay?

Grimmjow breathed deep. Opened his eyes. Closed them.

_"Mercy," Aizen spoke with a malicious smile, his voice the epitome of madness. "Allow me to bestow it onto you, my little angel."_

_By some pitiless twist of face or benevolent act of grace, Ulquiorra managed to crack one eye open at his murderer. His eyes were as radiant as they had been in life. So green and alluring._

_Perhaps he was granted this one last gaze to see some sort of guilt or remorse on his killer's face. So that maybe, when he perished, he would be allowed some peace in the afterlife._

_There was not an ounce of either on that malevolent countenance._

_"Divine, isn't it?" Aizen beholds, tone low and deceptively charming. He admires his artful work with one last glance before deciding to end it. "Fear not, beloved angel. Your God shall make it quick."_

_Lies._

_Aizen extended an elegant hand, keen dagger still fresh with dripping blood. He trailed a faint line of crimson across that pale neck, caressing the skin so excruciatingly soft._

_Quicker than the eyes could follow, Aizen's wrist flicked in a horizontal line, severing the last bit of life left in the raven-haired boy. Fifteen-years-old. Bruised and bloody; violated in the worst of ways._

_He hadn't even had a chance to pray._

_Cifer Ulquiorra was dead._

This time there was no sweat. No gasps and no aching attempts for breath. Grimmjow just stared into space, that traumatizing moment where the glittering blade had pierced the flesh of Ulquiorra's neck replaying over and over in his mind.

This time there no rage or disgust or fear.

Only tears.

"No..." Whispering this one last reply, he got up without another utterance and left the disturbed librarian and her assistant behind. He left the building with no purpose or place to go.

All he knew was: He wasn't okay.

* * *

><p><em>Yikes. That was a mind-blower, huh? Poor Ulquiorra:'(<em>

_Reviews? Please? With many opinions on top? The more that arrive, the more I type. *puppy face* Next chapter is nowhere near done, so it may take some time. Give me lots of love while you wait!_


	9. Blame and Shame

_Couldn't take the blame_

_Sick with shame_

_Must be exhausting to lose your own game_

_Selfishly hated_

_No wonder you're jaded_

_-Evanescence, Call Me When You're Sober_

* * *

><p><em>When had it started to rain?<em>

Of course, the downpour would come to mock him in his darkest hour. Honestly, he cannot muster up the strength to be bitter at it either. He deserves to be pelted with the relentless tears of all the anguished angels. He deserves this punishment.

He was as guilty as he was five years ago, when one lonely classmate disappeared and he was too absorbed in his own life to see this. Too damn selfish to see something so terribly wrong.

He always thought he was different from the rest of those annoying teenagers, so oblivious to the world and wrapped up in their own drama. When really, was he so different? Was he as special as he thought?

Yet, why was he the only one being haunted by this major failure? Everyone else who had known the boy and been fooled by Azien's ploy—classmates, teachers, Ukitake, Orihime—why were they not as torn up inside as he?

_Because you should have known,_ is the answer his mind provides. _You knew him. You do remember him, you just forgot. Why didn't you see? Couldn't you hear?_

Ulquiorra was calling out to him, deceptively alive and desperately pleading.

_Grimmjow...Grimmjow..._

But he couldn't help.

_...Grimmjow...Grimmjow..._

At the time, he hadn't cared.

_Grimmjow...Grimmjow..._

If only he had known, he would have—

"Grimmjow!"

_IT WASN'T HIS FAULT, DAMN IT!_

"Grimm," a breathless voice huffed, a hand placing itself on his shoulder. The contact never penetrated his skin, the warmth of touch forgotten before it could even register. He barely recognized the voice speaking to him.

"Hey, Grimm, what's up man? Are you okay?" This feminine voice he knew, unnaturally soft, concerned.

Okay? He just discovered a decade long conspiracy of a sociopath-in-disguise who got his jollies raping and murdering innocent adolescents. One of whom he actually _knew._ Yeah, he was just _fucking peachy._

"I..." He turned to face her, opened his mouth, saw who it was, closed it. He realized he had no idea what to say. "Hi, Nel."

Nel raised her eyebrows high, regarding him as if he were an odd taste in her mouth. "Hi, yourself. What are you doing getting soaked in the rain?"

"I..." _I'm mourning. I'm in pain. Can't you see it? Can't you hear the bitter beat of my bruised heart?_ "...I dunno."

"Come on, you can train for the wet T-shirt contest later. The gang's at our usual place, let's go." When he made no attempts to move, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along. She snorted, "You know, I haven't done this to you since we were kids."

_I haven't felt this broken since I was five and our puppy died. So I guess that makes sense. _

Nel had been correct. Seated at their table was his usual assortment of friends, shielded by the protection of a broad umbrella. Because that's what normal teenagers did. They sat outside, they laughed and joked around, they made stupid remarks and even stupider mistakes.

Unless, they never grow up. Unless they die before it all too late.

"Hey, guys, look who I found," announced Nel as she pulled him under the dry spot and forced him into a vacant seat.

"Looks dead on his feet," huffed Nnoitra. In all honestly, it was as close to the truth as it got.

He may be able to walk, talk, even breathe.

Yet he felt dead inside, less alive than ever before.

They're talking to him again, he realizes.

"Grimmjow?" Nel sounds exasperated, as if this is the sixth time she has tried to get his attention. "You never did tell me what in the hell you were doing?"

_I did, I did say, just not with words. You couldn't hear me. Just like no one could hear Ulquiorra, even as he screamed. _

"Just...out in the storm," he replied dazedly, sapphire optics fixated on top of the table.

"You hate the rain," an apparently awake Starrk pointed out.

Grimmjow shrugged, pulling strength from an inexplicable source as his listless shoulders sagged in strain. It was as if the mental and emotion turmoil was taking a toll on him physically to boot.

"So now, what, you don't hate rain?" probed Neliel.

"I do," he croaked, hoarse and dry. Nel noticed his woe and frowned.

"Which is it?" groaned Nnoitra, a thoughtful Szayel sitting next to him.

"Mood swings is one of the warning signs of depression, as well as severe despondency," the pink-haired student relayed, almost conversationally.

Neliel glared at him from across the table, reaching over to grasp Grimmjow's hand. It was a brief comfort, but one he had always allowed her to give him since childhood, even when girls were icky and the world still made sense.

Before she could grasp him, however, she shrieked in distress, "God, Grimmjow, you're _hand!"_ In his stupor, he had unwittingly stabbed himself with a fork, the sharp tendrils embedded in the skin. Nel quickly yanked it out.

Grimmjow glanced down himself, surprised at his bleeding palm but in no way vexed by it. If anything, the pain was consoling, the suffering a relief to the torment of his soul. He winced as the silver was removed from the wound, the twinge now fierce and throbbing as he felt the pain in full-force.

And still, the physical pain was nothing compared to the misery clamping down on his heart. He was half-tempted to stab himself again, on purpose this time, in hopes to alleviate.

"Grimmjow, what in the hell is—?" Again, voices, friends near, too close, touching his arm.

He reeled back as if burned. His blue eyes were still unfocused and glazed as his mind roamed in and out of reality, the shock of the day's earlier events trapping him in a veil of unease and plight.

He did not need their healing. He did not want any sympathy. He _wanted_ his guardian. He _needed_ Ulquiorra.

"Grimmjow," deep and commanding, Stark was never one to speak up, but when he did, all complied. "Calm yourself. Whatever is eating you, will not go away by keeping silent."

He was right. Damn him for being right. Damn him for being knowing and accepting and lazy and no help _at all._

"Hey, man, snap out of it!" snapped Nnoitra, slamming his hardened fist on top the table. The force of it shook the structure and trembled through Grimmjow's skin. "We ain't losing you, _hey!_ Pay attention to me, asshole!"

Nel shushed him with a wave of her hand, boring into Grimmjow with earnest he didn't have to see to know.

"Talk to us, please," she begged, hazel eyes glistening intensely, and he was reminded of Rangiku, her kindred spirit which had once too led him out of the muddled times of darkness.

"He was killed..." The words were slow and gravelly, like razors climbing up his esophagus.

A stupefied pause, and then—

"What?" uttered she, confused.

"He was murdered." Dead silence befell the gang, but he couldn't stop, not now. "And nobody noticed..."

"Dude, what the hell are you talking about? Are you high?" Nnoitra whipped around to face Szayel. _"Is_ he high?" Szayel shrugs, for once speechless.

"He was gone!" Grimmjow blustered, causing all present to jolt. _"Gone!_ And no one saw, no one cared! Not one fucking one of us, or anyone else, realized he was missing! Not even me..."

"Who, Grimmjow?" inquires Stark, quietly. He opens his mouth to reply, but seizes it shut instead.

"Grimm?" Nel pleads softly.

He falls silent. The blunt energy that had boiled up inside has fizzled. His outburst has left him empty and depleted, a husk of something not even human. He felt..._hollow._

A scary thought.

He can't stay here. The eyes on him, disturbed faces watching, _suffocating,_ he needs to leave. He gets up and travels, they call, he thinks, but are too stunned to follow and he is too upset to care.

The implosion, when it comes, is bone deep and numbing to the core. He stands in the middle of the downpour, unknown to him how much of the water running down his face was the rain or the tears mingling with it.

Grimmjow hasn't cried in years.

_Men don't cry._ It was something all boys felt was true at some point in their lives. Masculinity was supposed to be something untouched, something strong and invincible, which pain and sorrow couldn't reach.

Regardless, as Grimmjow stood there, bathed in a hail of rain with silent tears cascading down his cheeks, he had never felt like more of a man in his life.

* * *

><p>"Come on out!" Grimmjow screams, probably looking like a rotten lunatic, shouting to the heavens like so. "Right now! Show your black-winged face right this fucking instant!"<p>

It takes but a moment for wisp of fog to appear and a stoic voice to emerge from it.

"No need to use that kind of language." The words were seemingly produced from the netherworld itself. Grimmjow watched, barely restraining his flexing muscles as he waited with baited breath, as the dark figure accumulated before him.

"Satisfied?" Ulquiorra demanded in greeting, waving a stray ebony lock out of his face. However, no sooner than the irritated remark was uttered, was the smaller of the two enveloped in the larger's constricting arms.

"What are you..." The black angel breathed against his neck, seemingly stunned. Funny, how his breath was cold when it was supposed to be warm. Well, maybe not; he _was_ dead after all. The late realization was enough to bring a fit of bitter laughter spilling from his lips.

Ulquiorra did not deny his embrace, did not materialize or disappear like Grimmjow half-expected him to. He could feel the frown etched against his shoulder, the creases in those ivory cheek bones that marked his concern. And the fact that such an apathetic being even held an iota of care for him made it all the more difficult to accept what had happened.

"What did they do to you?" he whispered, drawing his closer, wondering when the last time he had felt such caring contact. His mother, perhaps? His sister or Orihime? Five long years of nothing but the memory?

Then again, could the dead even remember this sort of feeling? Could they even recall what a hug felt like, warm arms holding them through all the bad? Could he feel it now, even?

_Yes,_ he thought, _I have to believe he can. I have to believe he can feel me like I feel him. _

"Grimmjow?" Ulquiorra's voice is hindered and wondering, and Grimmjow can feel the change against him, the tense in the slim physique as the shards of the broken man holding him suddenly fall into place for the angel.

A sharp intake of breath, then abruptly, their positions have altered; whereas Ulquiorra is tightening his arms around him and Grimmjow is gratefully leaning into them.

He buried his face into the soft raven hair, the angel's sigh muffled against his shoulder, murmuring, "Oh, you poor, foolish man."

Grimmjow cannot hide the small smile that graces his face, does not even bother to hide the unexpected mirth when he retorts, "Is that how you thank me?"

Ulquiorra's distinguished _Hmph_, still smushed against his chest, is music to his ears. The numbness has subsided, and he is finally alive again. But with life comes emotions, and with emotion comes shame.

"How can you ever forgive me? How could you..? I never—" His throat closed up, the torrid emotion preventing the words from forming, obstructing his apology.

Somehow, his guardian understands what he is trying to say, and unwinds the trembling fists enclosed around his shoulders.

"You have no reason to be guilted by this," placated Ulquiorra, patting his arm in what he must think is substantial reassurance. "Nevertheless, the blame is not yours to bear. It is of no consequence to you."

For some reason, this ignites the anger like spark to a candle.

"How could you say that?" His eyes are wide, betrayed, as he searches for answers on that labyrinth of a face. "After everything I've done, everything I've seen on your behalf!"

"I never asked you to," flared Ulquiorra, oddly defensive. "You came to that conclusion all on your own."

"A conclusion you led me to believe!" he snarled, blue irises burning red. "You gonna deny that, too?"

Ulquiorra scowled.

"I told you on day one," was the scathing reply, him sounding as upset as Grimmjow has ever heard him, even in life, "I came here with orders to be your guardian. Nothing more, nothing less. I am here to relieve your burden, and in return, my own was promised to be lifted."

"Oh, I see now." So he was charity, some social service from the heavens above? _Fuck that_. "You know, I pitied you. I felt so bad that the sorrow was literally swallowing me whole!"

"Funny, I pity you even more," he retorted lowly, his face softening slightly, "Do not pity the dead."

Grimmjow growled in absolute frustration. "Stop saying things like that! Stop—messing with my head! You're kind, you're not. You care, you don't. You're dead, but I can touch you, see you, _feel_ you. What am I missing? What aren't you telling me?"

"Despite what you may think, I am not some all-knowing being who walks this earth with a knowledge of everything around him!" He crossed him arms pacifistically. "I am but a wanderer."

Grimmjow snarled, disliking that answer—_as if that statement explained everything_—and the confusion heaved along with it. This whole confrontation was getting them nowhere, and he planned on making this very clear to the latter, until Ulquiorra decided to drop the bomb on his own.

"What does it matter?" Curiously, he sounds as disheartened and exhausted as Grimmjow himself. "Why does any of this matter now? My death didn't bother you before—you weren't even aware of it—why now, all of a sudden, do you care so very much?"

"Because I love you!" he blurted out, pausing as his own breath hitched_. I love you._ Saying it out loud made the confession real. It made all the growing lusts and desires he's been trying to ignore _true._

"What?" breathed Ulquiorra, eyes widened in what was akin to...shock?

"I love you." Grimmjow grabbed the other's distant body and pulled him close again, this time connecting their lips in a startling bout of passion. He retracted enough to grit out, "I fucking love you."

He delved back in and Ulquiorra was still too floored to refuse. His lips were cold, _freezing,_ but oh so good, better than anything before. Their lips sealed the inevitable disaster that had been waiting to happen since Ulquiorra appeared to him in that graveyard. The feelings had been there all along, he simply didn't want to acknowledge them. Because he knew the consequences.

But now that it was official, frankly, Grimmjow didn't give a damn.

Even though he had just professed his love to a dead man.

* * *

><p><em>Aaand we end with Grimmjow's long-awaited confession! <em>

_It's weird, you know? The first scene from this chapter was actually the first part of the story I depicted in my mind, __yet it took me a while to write this. In the words of my favorite Watchmen, Hurm. _

_Anyway, hope you all enjoyed! Your reviews have all been lovely, and I am counting on you guys to obtain some more! Ughh, between Hurricane Irene and school that begins on Monday__, I could really use some good feedback and lots of it!_

_Stay tuned! Next chapter is M-rated for a reason(;_


	10. Love in Negative Spaces

_Say you want to stay, you want me to_

_Say you'll never die, you'll always haunt me_

_I wanna know I belong to you_

_Say you'll haunt me_

_-Stone Sour, Say You'll Haunt Me_

* * *

><p>Kissing his undead fixation might have been his dumbest and most grave mistake ever made. So dyer, it was nearly enough to damn him to the fiery pits of Hell with the rest of the sinners without trial or room for error.<p>

If this were the case, send him there with a bouquet of black roses and swallow the key. Hell was well worth the risk if it meant owning the voluptuous creature in his arms. He was headed there anyway.

He doesn't know how—_science, magic, heavenly intervention, who gives a fuck?—_they end up back at his apartment, but it is fortunate they do. His erection is an aching force caged against his pants, begging to be released.

They are still lip-locked in burning passion, sliding against one another like two molded sculptures, ivory against bronze, sapphire contrasting emerald.

"Stop," said Ulquiorra airily, but his protests ended as soon as Grimmjow's lips find his again. This time he forces his tongue in immediately, searching out the soft cavern like the primal beast he was.

"I won't," he mumbled against the angel's trembling lips, "I won't. Never."

There was no exact taste to him per se, just a blend of remnants left behind. Exotic spice, steel, blood, and ice. So tangible, so delicious. It was as addictive as the rest of him.

Undressing was relatively easy, Ulquiorra's clothes practically falling from his skin, and he had to remember if that was a perk because it was sexy as hell to watch. His own clothes were tad more irritating since they had to be manually removed, but in record time as slim, nimble fingers assisted him in unbuttoning his jeans.

Once they were both graciously nude, Grimmjow took the time to fully appreciate Ulquiorra's exquisite features.

His body was perfect in every essence of the word. Grimmjow hates sounding all mushy, but there was no other way to accurately describe it.

Chiseled muscles were framed against a lean frame. Gorgeously curved hips, unnaturally fair skin, and a firm buttocks to top it all off. If this were Heaven, he was considering priesthood right about now.

Then again, the Bible had never did condone such behavior; so if this was Hell, well, that was fine too. It meant he could make it as dirty as he pleased.

Regardless of what his hormone-crazed genitalia raged for, dirty was not all he had in mind. Sure, it was hot and the growing tightness in his loins was like none he had ever experienced before. But this was not just getting off, this had to be special in every way.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, _hold_ the phone. Where the hell is the usual Grimmjow? He knows it sounds crazy, but it is sinfully true. This isn't just physical. Technically, it could not be, since essentially Ulquiorra was correctively dubbed deceased.

Yet there was _nothing_ dead about the way he was writhing and waning underneath Grimmjow's body. His long tongue flicked out and brushed against his lips, hungrily.

One of his slicker than oil hands was inching itself up the pale man's thigh, the perfectly sculpted piece of meat as gorgeous and luscious as the rest of him. That same hand wormed upwards, stroking the sensitive flesh there, reveling in the way his heated touch actually coerced a throaty reaction from the stoic man beneath him.

He imagined a tuff of black hair between his legs, bobbing up and down as he deep-throated the ailing hardness that was currently the bane of his erotic existence.

But no, no; bad, bad thoughts. Tonight his goal was to make Ulquiorra feel good, to give him the pleasure that he never received and never would from anyone but himself. Mostly because he was dead. Also, because Grimmjow was a possessive son-of-a-bitch no matter what.

Everything was focused on making his beloved angel feel as good and alive as he did, and if his desire just happened to be satisfied in the process, well then, there was such a thing as bliss left in the world.

Because Grimmjow would be his _real_ first. This is how it should be. How it should have been had Ulquiorra not...had he not...

_Had he not been too late,_ always remained unspoken by the both of them. It was a boundry neither was ready to cross. Had he realized how madly in love he was with him...just a few year earlier... perhaps things could have been different...

"Stop thinking," the words were breathed out raggedly, but Grimmjow knew an order when he heard one.

Then lips were probing his neck, hot air rushing against his skin sending a shiver coursing through his veins. Oh shit, the sheer sensual tone in that statement was enough to make his freakin' orgasm right. This. Second.

_God,_ he was never one to comply, but he did _not_ need to be told twice.

"I love you," Grimmjow murmured huskily, kissing every inch of exposed flesh his lips could reach. Occasionally his teeth would brush a previous hickey or stop to nibble an untouched parcel of marble skin.

Foreplay was rough and messy, sloppy in their eagerness to expose one another. Here, in the sanctity of the bedroom, where no could judge or ruin. Just them and the sweet act of joining, adultery be damned.

Pulling those pliant hips up to meet his, he fondled that taut opening, reveling in the shivers he elicited from the dirty act. Then, for the first time since their coupling had began, Grimmjow hesitated. Until a hoarse snarl came from the impatiently waiting figure underneath him.

"I am no stranger to pain," he reminded hoarsely, urging his hips forward with a needy groan. "Do it."

Reeling from the impatience in the command, a slow smiles creeps up Grimmjow's face when he realizes just how _hot_ it dripped from the normally cool-headed being.

"It's not your ass I'm worried about," he explained whilst smirking, sultry and so very Grimmjow-like. He finally felt like he was back in his own skin again. "It's your voice. Because you're going to be screaming for me all night long."

With that, he plunges home, slick and sharp, with Ulquiorra crying out for him in pleasurable pain. It was the most magnificent sound in the world.

Their love was surprisingly sweet-tempered and graceful. Grimmjow comically imagined things had he been fumbled and staggering, but everything went smooth as the silk beneath their skin. He entered his love with a muffled groan of pure bliss, the body below keening in hurt and jubilation.

He added friction to the equation, rubbing Ulquiorra's stiff length in time with his thrusts, causing an ultra- overload. The pale body arched in pure delight and his ministrations tore the most wonderful moans from those luscious lips. Unable to resist the temptation, he dove in for another searing kiss, their tongues dancing in the same frantic passion of their bodies, as if time was of the essence and they only had so long to grope.

While that may be fictitious or not, Grimmjow can't help but not give a damn. Eternity seemed right at the base of his fingertips, intertwined with quaking slender ones, as he rode out the last ounce of pleasure when it tightened like a reign of fire in his gut and exploded in one star-blinding burst of semen and heat.

Ulquiorra came not a second later, and it was the most gorgeous sight in the world—pale lips parted, back bent into a high V, hands grasping at the sheets as the white matter ejaculated all over Grimmjow's chest.

When they both finished, the sound of their mingling sweat dripping across their chest and wet pants filling the musky air, both collapsed into heap atop the sheets. Exhausted and totally spent, the blue-haired man was ready for a long and uninterrupted slumber, but not without one final touch.

He reached over and pulled his lover close, pale muscles too lax and gratified to protest, proceeding to wrap himself around the other with a pacified sigh.

"Don't disappear in the middle of the night, okay?" he whispered, half-joking, half-serious. Ulquiorra made no reply, no vow of compliance; he simply nestled himself into the crook of his offered arms and let his face rest in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Grimmjow smirked, knowing this was more than enough of a yes.

Content, sated and blessedly warm within each others arms, the two drifted off into a peaceful sleep, no nightmares able to steal this moment away. It was their's to share for as long as this eternity lasted.

* * *

><p>Kurosaki Karin was the best on her team, or at least a near second. Her soccer team that it, the Karakura Kickers. It was her fourth vigorous practice of the week, in preparation for the big game on Saturday.<p>

Breathing puffs of air and exerting rolls of sweat, she waved goodbye to her fellow teammates and friends as they dispersed for an evening of recuperation and homework. Her younger twin sister, Yuzu, was waiting expectantly by the fence with their bikes in tow.

Karin wasn't paying attention when a curt figure brushed past her, blinking when the familiar tuff of white hair went on ahead of her. The upperclassman was the only one who bested her on the team, the elusive and abnormally short for his age, Hitsugaya Toshiro.

"Hitsugaya!" Karin called, but it was useless. Her senior teammate was gone with the wind, vanishing up the street with surprisingly long strides she could never hope to catch up with.

"Where'd he run off to so quick?" asked her younger twin, perplexed and almost pouting.

Karin sighed and shrugged, wondering herself. "Who knows? He always disappears right after practice. Not a very social teenager."

Yuzu's eyebrows drew up to her hairline. "Even less than you?"

The older twin glared. "Shuddup. Let's get home already."

As they rode their bikes off in the direction of home, chattering idly, neither were aware of said anit-social athlete two blocks away. His shoulders hunched from the weight of the school bag hung over his shoulder, Toshiro didn't even bother to watch for traffic or fellow pedestrians. He just kept flipping his cellphone open and shut, for whatever sentimental reason.

"You know," a voice said suddenly, calling out to him from the street, causing him to stop, "keep hunching like that and you'll never get that growth spurt. Proper posture is the key."

Toshiro couldn't help but smirk, and anyone else would completely flag at such an expression, considering it was such a rarity. Except around her. With her it was...

"Short girls shouldn't give lessons on growth, _Bed-wetter Momo_," he jeered, watching with amusement as her admonishment melted into a pout.

...so easy to smile.

"No fair, Shiro-chan!" she teased, wagging a reprimanding finger, "That was a low blow."

"Don't call me Shiro," added Toshiro, scowling again. Hinamori grinned wickedly.

"You've been telling me that for almost ten years," she remarks proverbially. "Obviously, it's not going to happen."

He sighed, running a hand through the snowy locks that had earned him said nickname. "And I don't feel like arguing about it for the millionth time. How about we call it truce for now so you can help me with my English Literature assignment."

He actually wasn't too terrible in English, but Hinamori was better. And her enjoyed her company much more than the studying. Plus, it keeps her occupied, which he also knows she is grateful for. She doesn't get much homework nowadays.

Besides, she was sucker for the poetry they went over, and Toshiro was a sucker for her reading the rhythmic lines with a glimmer in her eyes and a passion in her tone.

Smiling wasn't all too hard, and he knew, if he really gave it an effort, he could do it more often. For Karin and other team members. For the teachers and his classmates. For his Gran, even. But smiling _shouldn't_ have to be an effort or a chore. It should come naturally, like the sun rising in the morning and the moon reclaiming the night.

Smiling should be unconscious or unbidden, not forced or strained. Lately though—for a while now—Toshiro just hasn't had a reason to crack a grin or curl his lips...and without that reason, that driving force, what meaning did the false expression even carry?

Hitsugaya was many things. A loner. A genius. A liar wasn't one of them.

"Toshiro?"

"Hn?"

Her head tilted to the side, her brown hair falling ever so slightly to the right. "You totally spaced out."

Toshiro snorted in denial. "Did not. Stop imagining things."

Chestnut eyes rolled. "Right. Next thing you know, you'll tell me your over a foot taller than me."

He frowned. "Hey. Low blow."

"Returning the favor," she winked, before bounding ahead of him. Toshiro shook his head with silent laughter. He wouldn't let her get away with that so easily, but for now, he was content to bask in the glow her dazzling smirk left behind.

Yeah, he probably should smile more often than he did.

Luckily, Hinamori gave him a reason to.

* * *

><p><em>Guh. Sorry this took so long! Real life is such a nuisance, especially with school involved: Honestly, I kind of hate this chapter. The lemon was not one of my best, mostly since I haven't written on in a while. Meh. _

_And yes, I am a total HitsuHina shipper. They're like my most favorite het couple in Bleach and nothing anyone says can change that(: Anyway, I'll try to have the next chapter up as soon as possible. Maybe this time we can get past 40 reviews..? 50? Lol, I would be the happiest writer in all the seven seas..._

_'Til next time, never eat the yellow snow, and do your homework as I should be right now..._


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